


Lyrium Skin

by barbex



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Blood Magic, Deviates From Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femslash, Fluff and Angst, I thought it would go the threesome way but it has not, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Penetrative Sex, Romance, Self-Doubt, Sexual Abuse, but only very little, fuck timelines tbh, just a hint of hawkbela, memories of abuse, not timeline compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 62,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3270836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbex/pseuds/barbex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris has to learn to trust people and what it means to have friends. He lives with the constant pain of his markings but nobody can live without human touch for long. A story of recovery and love between two broken people. Fenris' POV. </p><p>May contain explicit sex. Deviates from canon and adds scenes, warnings for abuse and memories of abuse.<br/>The first two chapters are one-shots, <b>the story really starts with chapter three.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Skin

**Author's Note:**

> _I remember seeing a headcanon about the Lyrium markings on tumblr and how Danarius could have used Fenris' markings as instant healing and casually place his hand on his back all the time. I would like to give credit to whoever came up with that but I can't find it. So, whoever came up with it, Kudos to you, here's the idea this one spawned._

As always, he watches her. She fights, hard and brutal. There is grace in her movements but it's not the grace of a dancer. She hits just as hard as him, often using the same techniques as him. He wonders sometimes how she would move in a dance with him, a dance to music or a dance to the song of lust and sex.

But that will not happen. She is nice to him, just like she is to everybody, but he is no one special to her.

In the beginning he thought there could have been more, maybe he had even hoped she would look at him differently. He is even willing to forgive how she treats the mages so nicely, like she treats everybody else. He has to admit that they are useful in the fights but he doesn't trust them, none of them and the least of all that Grey Warden Apostate. How can she trust him, the abomination? His Lyrium lines burn at the thought of her smile aimed at the mage. But Anders is indeed useful, providing healing in the fights.

A scream abruptly pulls him back into the fight. Hawke has screamed as a burning scythe of a raised dead has seared her face. Fenris curses, how could that happen, how could the thing get so close to her? He rushes over, using his Lyrium powers to slip through the fight like a ghost and hits the skeleton at the same time as she does. Their swords scrape against each other, singing a screeching song of death.

As suddenly as the fight had started, it is over and Hawke orders the companions to check the area. Fenris feels his Lyrium tattoos burn under his skin. He could help her, if he let her touch him. That had always been a favorite function of him for Danarius. His Lyrium infused markings would provide healing for his master and the mage would rest his hand on his back and absorb the power, regardless how his hand burned on Fenris' skin.

He had felt so proud, how well he could help his master. It was an honor to suffer the pain for him. Fenris gags at the memory. How he hates this, how he had been, how he had felt when he was the mage's slave.

The pain has recently receded to a dull throb but he still doesn't want anybody to touch him. His skin is sensitive, pain the answer to every touch.

But Hawke is in pain, Anders is exhausted and his Lyrium markings could help her. He takes a breath and steps in her view. She is using a piece of cloth to wipe the blood from her face and he grabs her arm to stop her.

"Touch my skin," he orders.

Hawke stares at him. "What, now?" Amusement, that he doesn't understand, plays around her lips. "I had hoped for a more intimate location for that."

Fenris shakes his head, she is so confusing, always smiling, always joking and teasing. "No, it will heal you. You have to touch my Lyrium markings."

Her face suddenly turns serious and she stares at the glowing lines on his arm. "But you said it hurts to touch them. I don't want to cause you pain."

Fenris shoves his arm towards her and she jumps back as if he tried to hit her. Is he that revolting to her? "The healing is in them, you just have to touch them. It will help you." _And I will be useful_.

Hawke's brows furrow and she pins him with her eyes in a way that is almost like magic. "Danarius did that, didn't he? He used you for healing in a fight?"

Fenris shakes off the wave of hate at that blasted name on her tongue and nods sharply. "That was one of my functions for him."

Hawke takes a deep breath and a range of emotions flash across her face until it firmly settles on hurt and anger. She yells at him, loud enough for everyone around to hear, "And you think I would do this to you? Use you like he did? Like a walking, talking health potion? Do you really think I would hurt you like that?"

Fenris opens his mouth but he doesn't know what to say. At one point she had asked to touch his skin and when he had declined, she had looked hurt. But now she is angry that he wants her to touch him, even though it would be useful. "But it would help you," he stammers.

"I would never do that to you, Fenris, not like this," Hawke says and turns away. He sees her drop her gauntlets and rummage through her pockets until she finds a health potion. As she swallows it, the color returns to her skin, golden and glowing. She looks at him over her shoulder and he can't grasp the pain he sees on her face. He's done something wrong but he isn't sure what.

"Aww, Kiddo, you really screwed that one up," Varric says next to him.

"She is too confusing, first she wanted to touch, now she doesn't..." Fenris shakes his head and consciously calms the glow of the Lyrium in his markings.

"Of course she wants to touch you, just not like this." Varric looks up to him. "Do you know why we're here?"

"Because Hawke agreed to rid this – "

"– to make coin, Broody, to make coin."

Fenris shakes his head in disbelief. Hawke is ruthless, even calculating sometimes but she doesn't spill blood just to get rich. "No, she wouldn't –"

Varric raises his hand to stop him, "Hawke found a mage enchanter who might be able to remove the Lyrium from your markings. It would probably stop the pain or at least make them less painful."

Fenris stares at the dwarf, his mouth gaping open like a fish.

Varric continues, "She didn't want to bring your hopes up yet and she couldn't pay him anyway. That's why she took on the last few jobs, to make the coin to pay this mage enchanter."

"But I never asked her for that," Fenris says, "Why would she do that?"

"Oh, boy, you don't even know how much she likes you," Varric says and laughs. He shoulders his crossbow and walks over to Hawke, while Fenris struggles to breathe.

Hawke wants to help him? She likes him that much?

He walks over to her and waits behind her until she acknowledges his presence. Her shoulders drop and she turns a bit to look in his eyes. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, Fenris. I know you only wanted to help and I acted like –"

"It's alright," Fenris interrupts her.

"No, I don't want you to think that I find you revolting or that I hate you," she says and she turns away. "I just don't want to hurt you."

Fenris takes off his gauntlets and lets them fall to the ground. He places his hand on her shoulder and feels her wince. She turns around and raises her hand to his on her shoulder but she doesn't lower it all the way, she hovers over his hand, her eyes searching his face. He lays his other hand on top of hers and lowers hers down. When her palm touches the Lyrium markings on the back of his hand, he waits for the familiar searing of pain but it doesn't come.

There is a slight pinch, short, uncomfortable but it falls away when the warmth of her hand seeps through his skin. She looks at him, almost scared, searching his face for a reaction. Her other hand comes up to his face, featherlight ghosting over the skin on his cheek. He leans into her palm, pressing against her hand. The Lyrium starts to glow again and he feels it as a heat that, for once, doesn't burn him.

"Does it hurt?" she whispers.

"No," he says, his voice somewhere deep in his throat. "Hawke, Varric told me of the mage enchanter."

"I'm sorry, I should have talked to you about that."

"Maybe, yes. But I want you to know that even if it doesn't work, touching you and you touching me..." his heart threatens to jump out of his chest, could he dare to say it? Could he dare to ask her for feelings for him that he doesn't even know himself? "If you would..."

Her face is suddenly right in front of him. "May I kiss you?" she asks.

Something has his heart in a fist, pressing it into a glowing ball of red. "Maybe?" he stammers.

Her lips touch his, so soft and light and he doesn't know how it's done and if he had ever known it it is gone but he stumbles forward and presses his lips against hers, his arms wrap around her and it is the most natural touch he had ever known and his heart is suddenly free when her lips open for him, on him, with him.


	2. Touch

_On some days, Fenris’ markings hurt so bad that he can’t stand to be touched._

* * *

The door is closed. That is his first clue that something is wrong. Hawke always leaves her door open, partly to be open for questions and to talk to whoever comes along, partly to hear any ambush on her room before it can happen. Being paranoid in Kirkwall keeps you alive.

Fenris hesitates, his hand hovering over the door handle. A closed door should not be opened by a slave, unless ordered to do so. But he isn't a slave anymore. He presses the handle down and pushes the door open.

"Hawke? Are you here?" he calls into the room, waiting in the door way. The light from the hall spills into the room and his eyes adjust quickly. Only the light of a few candles by her bed illuminate the room with a play of light and shadow. He sees the shape of her, softly glowing in his Lyrium enhanced vision. She is hunched over the desk, her head on her arms on the table. An unopened bottle of wine sits next to her, the alcohol coloring it in an eerie light.

"Usually people knock, you know?" she says, her voice muffled by her sleeve.

"They do? Not just slaves and servants?"

Hawke sits upright and leans back in her chair. "Yes, it's polite to knock and wait to be called inside. You never know, people might not be decently dressed or they might not be alone. Or," she throws a pointed look at Fenris, "sometimes people want to be just left alone."

"Even if it's better to not be alone?"

"Yes, even then. You can't always assume what people need." She stretches again and stands up.

He has taken a step inside but the door is still open behind him. He understands that she wants him to leave, she practically made him a sign that said so, but something holds him in the room.

Hawke has taken a step to the window and stares outside into the darkness that her human eyes can't even penetrate. When she looks over her shoulder after a while, she seems to be surprised that he is still there.

She tries to smile but fails and her voice is soft like a little girl's, "I can't help you today, I'm sorry. You have to ask someone else."

"Help me with what?" Fenris asks. He doesn't feel like he needs help standing here with Hawke. It used to be that it made him nervous and defensive whenever he had to speak to her but not anymore. By now, he really likes talking with her and he looks forward to their little talk everyday.

"I'm sorry Fenris, it's been a bad day."

"Yes, I know." His foot begins to twitch and he has to force it to keep still. It feels so strange to stand here. Usually, Hawke would have asked him to sit down by now, her open smile inviting him to say something and even though he never knew what to say, suddenly, something would come up and they would talk until their eyelids felt heavy.

Hawke turns away from the window and sits down on her bed with a sigh. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her thin shirt reaching down to the floor. She looks up to him and her eyes have a darkness to them that he has never seen before. His Lyrium markings begin to glow.

Fenris shifts uncomfortably. He can feel the fire of the Lyrium all the time, but recently the burning has gotten worse. Every skin contact hurts and he only endures the constant pain of his armor because he can hardly run around naked in battle.

Hawke turns away from him and it makes the burning on his skin even worse. She lets her head fall into her hands. "I'm sorry, what ever you need, Fenris, I can't give it to you today. I'm empty."

The burning gets hot and he is about ready to run back to the mansion and rip everything off his skin but something holds him here. He never had friends or at least he doesn't remember if he ever had friends. He still isn't quite sure how friendship works but he knows that they help each other. Hawke has helped him so much but it has never occurred to him that she could need help too.

He sits down next to her, ignoring the searing burn on his skin as his armor shifts. But he must have shown something on his face because Hawke looks at him critically.

"Your markings hurt again."

"It's nothing."

Hawke lets out a snort. "Of course it's something. That armor must irritate your skin all the time." She raises her hand to touch his arm but stops herself, hovering over his arm, the light of his markings reflecting on her palm. "I'm sorry," she says and lets her hand drop into her lap.

"You don't need to be sorry, I'm used to the burn of the markings," he says. He raises his own hand to place it on her shoulder, like he has seen Varric do when he wants to give her support but in that second she turns away and rummages through a bag at the foot of the bed.

"I forgot I have something for you, where is it?" she mumbles, almost lying on her side as she searches through the bag. Her back is stretched out long, her butt lifted slightly off the bed and Fenris can't help but stare at it. It is right in front of him, how could he not?

He doesn't deny that she is attractive to him in a purely physical sense but that isn't why he is here. He loves their talks, the stories, the way she listens, how she always has a snarky remark on her lips. That is what they have and it is all that is there. And he doesn't ask for more. How could he, an elf with burning skin, who can't stand to be touched, wish for more?

He moves to stand up but Hawke notices it and grabs his hand by the gauntlet. "Wait, don't go yet." Fenris sits back down, a strange tightness in his throat preventing him from speaking.

She sits back up, a small leather bag in her hand. "I have something here, it's from the Dalish."

Fenris scoffs and Hawke looks in his eyes. "It's not magic," she says and dips her finger in the bag. It comes out with white grease on the tip and she holds it up to him. It smells of green leaves and herbs.

"It's a salve for burn wounds, specifically for Lyrium burns," she says. "The Dalish have some experience with that and they know best how to treat elven skin. Would you try it?" she asks, waiting for him to answer.

That tightness in his throat comes back, it always happens when she asks him something and waits for his approval or denial. He has not been a slave for a while but in moments like these, he actually realizes what that means.

He nods, his voice stuck somewhere in his chest. She takes his hand and sets her finger to the Lyrium marking running just above his gauntlet and next to the piece of protective leather that covers the inside of his arm, following the curved line up to his shoulder guard. He tries to control his expression but he winces when her finger touches his skin.

_Hands, holding so hard, burning fingers, pressing, pinching, twisting until the blood leaves and the Lyrium glows, "Quiet, hold still!" holding, down, down, it burns, it sears, holding, taking, this is all he is good for..."_

"You're shaking," she says and her hand flies away as if his skin burned her. "I'm so sorry, does it hurt so much?"

"No," his voice is rough, rising from the depth of hate that has formed in his stomach.

_Hate for him or for HIM?_

"Just a bad memory," he says and he holds his arm out to her.

“Can you take these off?” she points to his gauntlets and the arm cover. He releases the latches where the covers connect to his shoulder guards and is surprised how quickly she has the gauntlets and gloves pulled off his hands. He stretches his fingers, he hardly ever takes the spiky gloves off, not even when he usually falls asleep in the chair next to the fireplace in the ugly house he lives in. It's not his house but it's not HIS house either. Not anymore.

Hawke pulls his other arm forward, his thoughts have distracted him so much that he doesn’t notice that she has covered all the lines with salve. She works over his other arm, dipping her finger into the salve from time to time. The candlelight reflects on her face, giving it a golden glow. She has a calm look of concentration on her face, her bright eyes half lidded as she works over his arm. Her fingertip follows the flowery designs softly, applying just enough pressure to spread the salve. Her eyes are fixed on his lines, lifting and turning his arm to reach every silver-blue glow.

Finally she looks up, lowering his arm but she keeps his hand in hers. “How does it feel? Any better?”

Her eyes are shining again. That's the first thing he notices and it's the only thing. Two lights, bright and vibrating like a sound in his heart.

“How does it feel?”

“What?” Fenris wonders if she means his heart or the feel of her hand on his.

“Does the salve help?”

She looks at him and he wants her to never stop but he forces himself to look away, to not get lost in those eyes. He looks over his arms, over the lines that glow softly through the thin film of grease over them. The burn is still there but it's muted, receding.

He takes a breath, trying to calm his beating heart. “Yes, it feels better,” he says but it sounds like a whisper.

She points to the protection over his torso. “Take that off too,” she says and there is a rough vibration in her voice that he never noticed before. She sees that he hesitates and lets go of his hand. He immediately misses her touch.

“Fenris, I will not do anything that you don't want, I promise. I know you don't like to be touched and I –,” she closes her eyes for a breath and when she opens them again that familiar rougish smile plays on her lips, “– no matter what I would like to do with that wonderful body of yours, I respect that.”

He has to grin at that but he hides it behind his arm as he ruffles his own hair. Hawke has many men interested in her, she has no need to settle for him. He looks down to concentrate on the buckles of his chest piece to hide his wistful smile. Maybe one day he could stand to be touched but how likely was it that Hawke would still wait for him then?

He lets the chest piece and the back piece fall and looks down. He doesn't want to see how she looks at his marked body, the lines of ownership on his chest.

“Fenris,” her voice is soft when she calls him and he slowly raises his eyes to her face. She stares at his chest and he feels the glow getting brighter, the burn biting. He turns his face away but she takes his chin in her hand and turns it back to her.

“They look beautiful,” she says, “I know you hate them for what they mean but they don't mean that to me. For me they are just beautiful.” She dips her finger into the salve and begins to trace the markings on his chest, spreading the cooling salve over the burning light. She keeps talking, her voice soft and easy. “If we ever find a way of removing the Lyrium from them, I will help you but as long as you have them, let me tell you, they are incredible, so beautiful.” She makes him turn so that she can follow the lines down his side. “It's not only me who thinks that by the way.”

“No?” Who else would look at a marked slave?

“You have no idea how many girls are ready to fall at your feet when they see you, strong but lithe and with light all around your body in beautiful patterns.” She chuckles slightly, “That milkmaid yesterday almost fainted.”

“She probably hasn't seen much in her life,” he says as she sits down behind him, tracing the markings on his back.

Hawke laughs quietly, “Probably true, but I almost joined her.” She spreads the salve over the last line and lets her hand linger on his lower back. She is closer now, her breath flowing over his shoulder and if he just turned, his lips would catch hers.

But her hand burns. It's not quite as bad as before, the salve is helping but his skin hates every contact, even the lightest pressure. He wants to press himself against her and he wants to rip off his skin to stop the thousand needles from tormenting him.

She realizes his discomfort and removes her hand. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...”

“No, I'm sorry, I should go,” he says and he swallows hard, swallows down everything.

“Fenris,” she calls after him before he reaches the door. “I'm not asking... I don't...” she rakes through her hair and sighs, “Could you just stay here? Not holding me or anything, just, could you stay, please?” It almost sounds like a plea. So strange, coming from her.

“Of course, Hawke, if you want me to,” he says and walks back to the bed. She points to the side of the bed and he kneels down on it, sitting on his haunches as she crawls under the cover on the other side. She lies on her side, her face turned to him, her beautiful eyes looking at him. He expected to see disappointment but it's not there.

“Blow out the candles please,” she says. Without the light of the candles, the moonlight and the glow of his markings makes everything silver-blue. In his Lyrium enhanced vision, she glows bright and golden and her eyes are blue pits of fire. They get smaller and smaller as she closes her eyes and he watches her as the tension leaves her face.

He thinks she has fallen asleep when she suddenly whispers, “Fenris?”

“Yes?”

“Call me Marian.”

“Yes, Hawke, I mean, Marian.”

She smiles with her eyes closed. “You don't have to stay here all night, just for a bit.”

“I understand.”

“Good night, Fenris.”

“Sleep well, Marian.”

Her smile stays on her face until she finally falls asleep, her face relaxing. He keeps watching her.

He does not leave.


	3. Finding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This elf!!**  
>  This is the real start of the story now, from here on the chapters are actually connected by time and story arc. When I began writing this, I had no idea it would turn into this.  
> To mark the occasion, have some art! I won an art piece by ialpiriel on tumblr in a giveaway and I'm so happy to have a picture for this story now.  
>  **Let’s see what we have for keywords. This is: angst, self-doubt, memories of abuse, smut, non-penetrative sex, masturbation**  
>  \------------------------------------  
>  _Prompted, among other things in my brain soup, by:_  
>  _http://sassanids.tumblr.com/post/112072914979/okay-but-fenris-discovering-his-own-likes-and_  
>  _[…] Fenris, discovering his own likes and dislikes, trying anything and everything and having the option to say “I enjoy this” or “I don’t like this.”_  
>  _Fenris discovering that he can have favourite things, favourite colours, favourite foods, favourite hairstyles because before he liked what Danarius liked, he ate what his master wanted him to eat, he looked the way his master wanted him to look, he didn’t even think about what his favourites were because who would have cared what a slave likes? [...]_

 

* * *

 

 

Wonderful Art by http://ialpiriel.tumblr.com/

 

When the days in Kirkwall come to an end and the streets between the houses fall into shadows, Fenris sometimes leaves the rotten mansion to take a walk. It's not that he hates the house, the house is just a place he uses. But when Hawke doesn't pick him up for a job all day, he gets restless by dusk. Then he goes for a walk.

The mansion that Hawke's family has moved into, that old estate that rightfully belonged to them, takes up a whole block in Hightown. Fenris has walked around it many times. Each of his little walks takes him to her mansion at some point, even if he doesn't plan on it. He has seen the inside once but by now he knows the outside better than the inside. He knows which window was her mothers bedroom, the one that never shows any light anymore. There's another window that has always been dark.

The shadows wrap around him and he dips his head toward the one window that is lit by candle light. He can't really look into the window, but he can sometimes see a shadow move. He never lingers here, he just throws a short look up, like he wishes her a good night. Then he walks on.

He walks around the corner and stops short. Isabela saunters along the street and knocks on Hawke's door. Someone opens the door and lets her in and Fenris stands frozen in the shadow of an alcove.

He wills his feet to move but they refuse. There is a strange pinch in his chest, a feeling he is unfamiliar with. He likes Isabela in all her brashness and openness. But as he watches her step into the house, into Hawke's house, her hips swinging suggestively, her hair flowing backwards from a swift move that looks so innocent but is surely not – he wants to jump forward and grab her, throw her to the ground and rip her –

The searing pain under his skin pulls him back into reality. His Lyrium markings burn in blue light, giving his hiding place away.

He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself down, shuddering from the violent images his mind is supplying him with. Isabela is his friend, there is no reason for him to be thinking of doing... that. His fists are clenched so tight that the metal gauntlets groan. He shakes his head and decides to go back to the rotten mansion. He forces himself not to look at the golden glow of Hawke's window as he hurries into the darkness of the city.

He avoids the Hawke estate for the next few walks he takes at dusk. He doesn't see anybody else for a few days either and the rotten mansion feels even more empty than ever. He misses... something. He misses the camaraderie, the joking, the teasing, the laughing. And he also misses the trust, to know that he isn't alone in the fight and to have a purpose.

After five days without any contact, save for the girl at the food stall where he buys his bread and cheese, he can't sit still any longer. The corpses, magically preserved to never decay seem to watch him and when he finds himself bent over one, the tip of his sword ready to plunge into a long dead eye, he realizes that he can't stay another minute in this rotten mansion.

_You used be on your own for years and now you can't even be alone for a few days?_

He let's out a grunt to silence that annoying voice in his head and stomps outside. For a second, he has to squint against the sun. He's out here earlier than usual and the sun is not yet hiding behind the taller houses. The street even smells differently, more dry and with a metallic tinge to it. The cobblestones under his soles are still warm from the sun as he walks around corners at random. It's a different city at this time of day, the traders are advertising their wares, children and women from the countryside offer a few fruits from their fields. Their clothes look ragged but they make a point of looking in disgust at the few beggars that have avoided the eyes of the city guard, even though they look not much different as the farmers.

A familiar voice makes him take the stairs down to another level in this damn city of stairs and nooks and crannies. Varric stands among a group of dwarves, apparently telling a high tale. Fenris watches from afar to not interrupt him. He has noticed him of course, everybody notices him, it comes with the blue lines on his skin that people notice him. He has contemplated wearing a cape to be less conspicuous but that would require shopping for clothes and he has never done that and has no intention of asking Isabela or Hawke for help.

He watches as the conversation shifts away from Varric to another dwarf, who boasts with a tale of his own, probably more amazing and ridiculous if the wide waving of his arms are any indication. Varric is silent but he's watching. Dwarves are hard to read but Fenris knows Varric pretty well by now and he sees a little, knowing smile that he hides under his hand scratching his nose.

Varric excuses himself from the group and walks over to Fenris.

“Haven't seen you in a while, kiddo,” he says as he stops in front of him. “How are you doing?”

“I'm... fine,” he sputters. These questions always confuse him, how can he say how he feels?

“Relax, this is not an interrogation,” Varric says and laughs. He points to the dwarf in the group, who still tells his audience a story. “That guy always has the craziest stories to tell, almost too crazy to write them down.”

“You use the stories people tell you in your books?” Fenris has seen Hawke and Aveline talk about Varric's book and it had been so strange to see these two warrior women giggle and blush like kitchen maids.

“Not like verbatim,” Varric says and starts walking towards Lowtown. Fenris walks with him, he has no other place he needs to be. “I use the stories as inspiration, to flesh out the romance. Readers like the core of the story but they want to be led to it by an exciting path, you know?”

Fenris doesn't know but he nods nonetheless. They walk along the streets and stairs through this strange city that looks like someone has kept on adding sections to it. Varric keeps talking about the book he wants to write next and what a success it will be. He doesn't quite say it but Fenris suspects that the new book is heavily based on Hawke and her current companions, including himself.

_How strange to be part of a story that someone else will read._

“I haven't quite decided on the romance though,” Varric says and the pointed look he throws Fenris makes him blush.

“Maybe you should consult some other people about that,” Fenris says, turning his face away from the dwarf.

“Some people need to make a decision at some point, is what I'm thinking.”

“Maybe some already have,” Fenris spits out and it sounds so bitter that he is surprised by it himself.

They have arrived at the Hanged Man and stop in front of the door. Varric looks at him, he almost seems to be angry but then his expression changes into something friendlier. He puts a hand on Fenris lower back and gives him a little push.

“Come on in, I'll buy you a beer,” he says. “The rest of the gang will probably be here soon too.”

_Would they welcome me?_

He almost asks the question but as soon as he enters the room, Merrill screams in delight and runs over to him. Fenris braces himself for the hug that is sure to come and will make his skin burn but before she comes close enough, a strong, brown arm plucks her from the air and pulls her to the side. Isabela has grabbed the elf girl and presses a kiss on her mouth before putting her in an upright position again.

“No hugging Fenris, remember?” she says with a wide smile. Merrill's face turns deep red under her markings and she stares after Isabela, who strolls over to a table on the side, her hips and her hair swinging.

“Oh,” Merrill finally says, gasping in air as if she had forgotten to breathe. She turns to Fenris, “I'm sorry, I forgot, I didn't want to, but I..., where have you been?” she babbles and takes his wrist where the gauntlet covers his skin. “Come here, sit with us, Isabela has given me sweet wine, you have to taste it, it's so nice, much better than that ghastly beer that Varric made me try, come here...” she keeps on babbling, pulling him along to the table where Isabela has already taken up residence at the head.

The pirate smiles at them, warm and open. The picture of her entering Hawke's estate rises up in his mind and that anger wants to rise again. He fights it down but something must have been visible on his face because Isabela looks at him, suddenly serious. He feels like he should apologize to her but he isn't sure for what.

Merrill is pulling him on the bench and hands him a cup of some white wine that smells very fruity. Aveline is there too on the other side of the table, a rosy glow on her cheeks. Varric has taken a seat next to her and close to Isabela and he whispers something at her. Fenris can't hear it, elves may have good eyes but his hearing can't pierce through the noise of the Hanged Man. He takes a sip of the beverage, it tingles a bit on his tongue and under the fruity taste is a hint of yeast. It seems to be some kind of wine but it has not matured enough to be called that. He drinks the whole cup, it's easy to drink, like fruit juice.

“Better slow down, Sweetie,” Isabela calls to him, “that will go straight to your head.”

“Just look at Merrill,” Varric says.

Fenris looks to the side, expecting to see the elf girl sitting next to him but she doesn't sit anymore. She has curled up on the bench next to him and seems to have fallen asleep.

He chuckles, “I think a have a pretty high tolerance, I drink wine quite often.”

“Oh yes, from that fancy wine cellar in your mansion,” Isabela says, stretching backwards in her chair. “This is something else, all the way from Anderfels, it has a way of going to your head really fast.”

“What is it called?”

Isabela shrugs. “I don't know, Feder-something. They only make it for a short time in the year. It's nice, isn't it?” She takes another sip and winks at him over the rim of her mug. He waits for the violent thoughts to jump back up but they stay quiet.

Varric has filled his mug again and Fenris takes another big gulp. “It is nice, yessss.” The word seems to get longer as he speaks. He looks down at Merrill sleeping and snickers and that smile stays on his lips. His brain is humming. He looks into the half-empty mug. “I may have underestimated the potency of this.”

Varric and Isabela laugh out loudly and even Aveline chuckles a little. The door opens and her face lights up. Fenris turns around to see who came in and he feels his own face light up just like Aveline's. She may have looked at Guardsman Donnic but Fenris can only see Hawke. She ruffles through her hair, her helmet in her hand. Her eyes flick around the room, seeing everything until she catches Fenris looking and smiles at him.

He stops breathing. Her smile is the purest light he has ever seen, rivaling the sun.

“Fenris! I'm so glad to see you,” Hawke shouts out and shoulders through the crowd towards him. Nobody ever calls Hawke graceful, but the way people are jumping out of the way of her poking shoulderguards, it looks like she's floating towards him. Fenris' body finally reminds him of his need for air and he draws in a breath that sounds embarrassingly like a sigh.

Hawke comes to a stop before him and holds out her hand with her palm up. Fenris places his palm on hers for a second, just a small touch. Hawke never hugs him since he told her that it irritates his skin.

She hugs Isabela with a kiss on her cheek and sits down next to Fenris, with Isabela on her other side. They look at each other and Fenris turns away. But Hawke turns back and talks to him.

“It's good to see you, Fenris, I had no idea that you'd come here too.”

“I haven't..., I wasn't ...,” the Federwine is obviously not helping his tongue to form impressive sentences. Hawke smiles at him and his voice just stops. He sits with his mouth open, unable to say anything.

Varric rescues him. “So how did it go, Hawke? Was it someone we know?”

“The fancy cat we had to escort?” Hawke says, “I doubt it, you don't seem the feline kind. I asked Anders if he was on speaking terms but he just glared at me.”

Fenris lets out an annoyed grunt at the mention of that name.

Varric scratches his head. “What are you talking about?”

Hawke takes a long gulp of the wine and shakes her head. “This was the most ridiculous job I have ever done. We escorted a cat, real, fluffy, yellow cat!”

“You have to be shitting me!” Varric's mouth is hanging open while Isabela falls into uncontrollable giggles.

“I do not,” Hawke says and drains her cup. “Hm, this is good stuff, give me more,” she holds her cup out to Varric and he fills it again.

“Be careful, even Fenris calls this stuff potent,” Varric says.

Hawke raises an eyebrow and seems to take a smaller sip. “You won't believe it, this cat has a servant who carries her around on a velvet pillow. And they hired us to protect them. So all day long, I walked next to a servant, carrying a big fluffy cat on a red velvet pillow around Hightown, while Anders and Sir Chantry himself Sebastian kept on bickering behind me who kissed Andraste's arse better or if it deserved kissing at all.” She drains her cup in one gulp. Fenris watches her throat move as she swallows. “Remind me to never again take those two with me at the same time.”

She turns to Fenris and suddenly leans over. By the way her eyes widen, that move seems to have surprised herself. “Whoah, this stuff really goes to the head.” She holds on to the table to straighten herself again but her face is very close to his throat and her breath goes over it and Fenris doesn't know what to do. He wants her to kiss him right there and he wants her to move away and he wants to pull her close to him and he wants to run away until he can't feel the cobblestones under his feet anymore.

Isabela giggles and pulls on her arm to get her upright again. Hawke giggles with her and Isabela doesn't move her hand away.

The room is too small and crowded and the noise is getting louder.

He jumps up, knocking against the table and making the cups rock. Hawke stands up too, her eyes so wide and blue. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes, I...” he has no reason, he just wants to leave.

“I'm coming with you,” she says and throws a few coins on the table.

Isabela pouts, “Aww, come one, the night is still young!”

“My feet hurt and I'm tired,” Hawke says and gives Isabela and Varric a wave. She also waves at Aveline but the guards captain leans on Donnic's shoulder with her eyes closed. Fenris dips his head in a short nod towards Varric and Isabela, ignoring the suggestive grins they both have on their faces.

They step out of the noisy bar. Outside, the night is quiet and cold and only a few stars are visible. Fenris waits for Hawke to come to his side and walks with her in the direction of the Hawke estate.

They are silent the whole way, neither of them seems to knows what to say.

In front of her door they stop and stare at the floor.

Finally Hawke looks up and lets out a sigh. "Now this is even more awkward than our usual way."

"Yes," Fenris nods and looks at her, "I wonder if we can blame the yeasty wine."

"Yes, lets do that." A short burst of laughter escapes her. She holds out her hand, palm up.

Fenris places his own palm on hers and something pulls at his chest. It's not his old friend, that familiar pain, that wants to tear through him, it's a new feeling.

Hawke looks down on his hand on top of hers and softly presses against his palm. “Can I pick you up tomorrow morning for a little job? Nothing big or dangerous.”

“That's what you always say.”

She giggles a little and he has to look at her face to make sure that it's really her, Hawke, the warrior, holding his hand and giggling.

“This time it's really true. I'll pick you up after breakfast, yes?”

“As you wish,” he says and it sounds wrong.

“It's not an order, Fenris,” she says and pulls her hand away.

The moment is about to shatter and Fenris desperately tries to find something to say. “I didn't understand it as an order, I just wanted to say that I will be ready in the morning.”

The harsh line on her forehead disappears and she gives him another smile. There's a rosy glow on her cheeks that he never noticed before. “Will you be alright walking on your own from here? You could also stay here of course...” She doesn't quite end the sentence and her face turns deep red.

“I will be fine,” he says and steps away. Regardless of how she meant the invitation, he can't stay, not in that house, so close to her.

“See you tomorrow then,” Hawke says and turns to go into the house. She looks over her shoulder once and that pull in his chest comes back when he looks at her.

He starts walking home but his feet dance on the cobblestones and he goes faster and faster until he runs, runs and runs, fast and swift like a wind rushing around corners on silent feet. He almost forgets to stop at the rotten mansion.

The corpses greet him with empty eyes when he steps in and he hurries up to the room he occupies. A few specks of amber still glow in the fireplace and he stokes and kindles it until it is alive again. The water he uses for washing is still terribly cold but at least the fur and the strawmat have warmed up a bit by the time he settles down in front of the fire. There is a bed in this room but it's not one he will ever use. He tries to sleep, his thoughts turning to Hawke and how she looked at him. He should have kissed her.

He should have kissed her and put his hand on her neck and she would have wrapped her arms around him and maybe it wouldn't even have hurt. Her hands are calloused from years of working the sword but he knows them to be soft and gentle. She would be careful, her touch would be soft and the pain wouldn't flare up.

He almost slips into sleep on the idea of her touch and he holds on to the images a little longer. Gentle touch, words whispered softly. Hands, long and slim, touching, caressing, stroking over his hair as he rests his head on his master's knee – “My lovely little wolf, you've done well today, little wolf...”

He scrambles up with a yell, clawing at his face to rip the memory off his mind.

_Not him, not Danarius! Hawke! Not Danarius!_

He gets up and runs through the house, shivering, tripping over debris and unrotten corpses. The wine cellar holds all he needs to quiet his treacherous mind. He takes a bottle at random and curses that he left the opener upstairs, which is probably a good thing as it forces him back to the warmth of the fire instead of falling asleep on the floor of the cold wine cellar.

The wine is cold and bites just like all the other bottles from down there. He doesn't care how it tastes, he just drinks it until it settles over his mind like a muffling blanket, thick and heavy. The bottle falls from his hand and rolls over to the fireplace, the last remains of the wine dripping from it like demon blood as he finally falls to the side and can sleep without memories.

Someone touches his hair. A hand, the hated hand, strokes over his hair. He grabs the wrist of the hand, squeezing and twisting and snarls at the face in front of him. The mouth is grinning, smiling and now opens to a pained cry.

 _Good_.

"Fenris! It's me, Hawke!"

_Hawke?_

He loosens his grip and her wrist falls out. He recognizes the smile now, Hawke is kneeling in next to him, half leaning over him, her armor making scratching and creaking noises when she moves.

"Hawke! I'm sorry, I thought..." _There was someone else, someone who's love came with a price._

"It's fine, you didn't wake up when I called you. I only touched your hair." She sits back on her heels and folds her hands in her lap. "Do you want to sleep some more? I can ask someone else to come with me..."

"No," he interrupts her, "I'll be ready in a minute." He sits up and crawls over to the water bowl to throw some water against his skin. The coldness of the water is welcome this time.

Only then he notices that he is naked and one look over his shoulder confirms that Hawke is staring at his ass, a big smile on her face. She notices that he sees her watching and turns bright red.

"You can't blame me for looking, it was right there in front of me," she says and grins at him. She gets up and goes towards the door and waits with her back turned to him.

He hurries to put his clothes on and straps on his armor and they are soon on their way. Hawke buys a few pastries on the way and hands him one. "You ever had one of these?"

"I don't think so," he mumbles, carefully sniffing at the sticky thing. Tevinter has pastries too and sometimes he was given one as a treat, when he had done well. He holds the little cake out to Hawke. "I don't want it."

"You didn't even try it!"

"I don't want to."

"But," Hawke begins to gesture, like she does when she is trying to convince someone. Convincing people is Hawke's specialty and Fenris braces himself for the speech he is about to hear.

But she stops, her mouth open and she looks at him. She seems frozen and Fenris wonders if there's magic involved. Just when he begins to worry, she takes a deep breath and lowers her eyes. "It's alright, you don't have to do anything you don't want."

He is about to disagree with her, a habit, honed in years as a slave. To ask what the master wants, to ask how to please him, to do what is needed, to please, he was good at that. But he doesn't have a master anymore. "Maybe another time," he mumbles and looks at his feet.

Hawke's voice is cheerful again, "Come on, the school is right over there."

"A school? I didn't know that Kirkwall even has one." He hasn't seen many children in Kirkwall at all in fact.

"A school for non-mages. It keeps the children off the streets and out of crime." She walks over to a bench and takes the sword off her back to sit down. "The headmaster said that she saw some 'suspicious elements' around here and wants us to be on a lookout."

Fenris looks at her armor and his own, reflecting the sunlight. "We are not exactly inconspicuous."

"You're right but she wants us to show presence, to discourage people from trying things."

Fenris places his sword over his lap as he sits down next to Hawke. She has leaned her sword against the bench next to her and looks almost too relaxed, nibbling on her pastry with her eyes half closed. Fenris knows that this is probably a ruse, Hawke is ready to fight in seconds, he has seen that before.

He takes out a rag from his pocket and pretends to clean his sword but he keeps glancing at her, trying to look at her without her noticing. Isabela visiting her comes to his mind again, like so often in the last few days and he wonders what Hawke did with her. The question keeps coming up in his mind, despite him trying to stomp it down because with every thought like that, the searing pain from his skin moves to the inside, burning him.

He rubs harder at the blade, focusing on the gleam of the metal, not on Hawke's hands and who they've touched.

"What's wrong?" Hawke asks with a quiet voice, her eyes still almost closed.

He stops scrubbing to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"I noticed that you've been avoiding me and last night you..." she glances up to him, a few strands of hair hiding her eyes. "It felt like you couldn't get away from me fast enough. Did I do anything to make you mad?"

"No, not... it wasn't about that." He feels his ears getting warm.

"Please tell me, Fenris, I want to be your friend and this feels terrible."

The last thing he wants is to make Marian feel bad.

"It was just... a few days ago I saw Isabela go into your house."

She stares at him with wide eyes. "Are you watching my house?"

"No, I go for walks sometimes and come along you house on the way." It isn't really a lie.

"You go for walks? Alone?"

"Yes."

"At night? In Kirkwall?" Her voice has gotten louder and she sounds very much like she wants to punch him in the face any second. "Andraste's ass, are you out of your mind?" Her eyes burn bright in anger and he can't stop staring.

"I can take care of myself," he says, now feeling defensive.

"Yes, I guess you can, sorry, it's just..." she stands up and leans down to get right up in to his face. "You may not think your life is worth protecting but I _do_ think it is. I would not...," she searches for words and her eyes shine even brighter, "I don't want you to get hurt, I don't want to lose you in some stupid ambush..." she huffs and takes a deep breath that seems to swallow everything else she wanted to say.

If he moves his head forward just a bit, he could kiss her. But he has to soothe the screaming question in his mind first. "What did you do with Isabela?"

Hawke straightens and her brows furrow. "We had some girl fun."

Fenris feels anger rise in him, she's playing him, evading his question. "What kind of girl fun?" he spits out between clenched teeth.

Hawke looks at him for a bit before she answers but he can't read her face. She sits back down next to him and looks at him from the side. "We...," she chuckles, "well, if you really want to know, we had sex." She turns to sit sideways and studies his face. "Talk to me, Fenris, what is this about."

His chest hurts. Something tightens around his ribcage, he can't breathe. "I don't like it," he blurts out.

"Me and Isabela?"

Another stab in his chest. _Make it stop!_

"I don't like thinking about it."

Her face softens. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I wasn't aware that this would hurt you."

"It isn't my place..."

"Maybe I wished it were," she says quietly.

"What do you mean?"

She opens her mouth to answer but something catches her attention and her face turns grim. "How dare they!" She points to a human and an elf, who have engaged two children in a conversation. "Right under our noses, damn them." One of them pulls out a bag from under his coat and lets the children look inside.

Fenris pushes his private thoughts aside and follows Hawke, who walks quickly towards the men, her sword gleaming in the sun. She descends upon the men with growling fury, pinning them to their place until the cityguard takes them away, along with the lyrium-laced candy they tried to sell.

Hawke watches as the guards take the men away and growls to herself, "With children, right in front of our eyes, unbelievable."

Fenris walks back to the bench and sits down but Hawke gets stopped by a girl and a boy, who point at her sword with wide eyes. She crouches down low and shows the sword and her knives to the children. He can't hear what they say but the children laugh and wave when Hawke leaves them to return to the bench.

He waits for her to talk but she just watches the children run around. "Do you like children?" he asks.

"I'm not sure, maybe some are not the hellspawn that people call them."

He wants to ask her more about Isabela but just thinking about her and Hawke makes his chest hurt again. She looks at him and maybe she can read some of his turmoil on his face because her expression softens.

"Listen, about Isabela and me, that was nothing serious. A moment of weakness to her charms on my part, I guess." She gives him a weak smile. "I didn't think it would affect you like that. I thought..." She stops and looks at her hands.

"It isn't..." ... _my place_.

He tries to look straight ahead but he can't help but watch her out of the corner of his eyes. Her hands are twitching in her lap.

"Maybe that's not entirely true, maybe I just wanted to see a reaction from you." She shakes her head and laughs, turning to him. "You know, nobody ever says that I'm subtle, I think I was pretty obvious. I like you. I even kissed you, I don't do that with many people, I'm not sure if you noticed but I don't even _hug_ people a lot." She is very close to him but not touching him. "I thought you liked me too but you seem to retreat more and more and I don't know what to make of it and yes, I'm just human and maybe a bit of a narcissist but I crave attention. I need to know..."

She holds up the palm of her hand and waits. He stares at her hand and slowly places his palm on hers. She's not grabbing it, just pressing against his. Her warmth races through him, filling every part of himself.

She looks at their hands, connected like that. Her voice is quiet like a whisper. "I need to know if there's even a chance for us. I'm willing to wait for you, Fenris, but..." She looks up to him, her eyes glimmering wet. "Is there a chance? For us?"

He wants to say yes. He wants to yell it out and pull her tight and let her feel the light of the sun that shines inside his heart. To have her, to hold her, to be with her!

But he hesitates. What does he have to give her?

She sees his hesitation and one finger of her hand wraps around his wrist, lightly holding him in place. “Talk to me Fenris, tell me what you're thinking,” she says, softly coaxing.

His mind feels like cold honey, no word want to come. “It is not my place..” he mumbles and turns away from her glimmering eyes.

“Yes it is!” she calls out loudly. “You are your own person, you have every right to say what you like or not.” She lowers her voice and let's his hand slip from her palm. “You don't have to tell me now but please think about what you want.”

“What can I give you?” he blurts out and stands up. He doesn't know much about what he wants, but right now, he wants to leave.

She stands up and steps in front of him, just a hand-width away from him. “We both will give and we both will take and it will be enough, you don't have to do or give anything you don't want to.”

“And what if you can't touch me?” he whispers and he doesn't dare to look at her face.

“Are you worried about the sex?” she asks and looks around and lowers her voice when she notices that a few children look at them. “We will find a way. But this is hardly the time and place. Can I visit you tonight and we talk about this?”

He expects her to look disappointed when he raises his eyes to hers but her smile is warm and caring and brings light into dark corners of his soul.

"I'm not asking for decision now or tonight," she says and takes a step back, "but even if you say that you would rather be alone, I still want to be your friend. And I'm the kind of friend who will talk about sex."

He can't help but grin, "This will be embarrassing for me but you will do it anyway, am I right?"

"Oh, yes, for sure!" she says and chuckles. She looks around, the teacher waves at the children at the door, they seem to go home. "Looks like our job here is done. I'm gonna visit Aveline and see what will happen to the guys we caught here." She puts her sword on her back and waits for him to do the same. They leave the courtyard together. "See you tonight?" she says with a lopsided smile.

Fenris swallows and nods.

"I'll bring food," she says and before he can think of something to say, she has disappeared in the crowd.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time the shadows start spreading in the street, Fenris is a nervous wreck. His skin feels too small and the markings burn under his skin. This is not a good night for whatever Hawke is planning to do.

He hears the door to the rotten mansion open and Hawke call out his name. "Up here!" he answers and can't help but sigh, he doesn't have much hope for this evening.

Hawke enters with a covered basket in one hand. It looks a bit strange in combination with her armor. She smiles at him and Fenris feels himself relax. Maybe it won't be so bad after all.

Hawke puts the basket down and unceremoniously begins to take off her armor. She wears a simple garment underneath that looks more practical than pretty. "Would you take off your armor too? It would make things a bit less pokey," she asks and gives him another smile that makes things suddenly less awkward. He nods and works on the buckles while she carefully stacks up the pieces of the silver armor with the red dragon design on the chestplate.

Fenris shoves the pieces of his armor under the bed and settles back down on the straw mat, wearing a simple shirt and long pants. At least the shirt looks fairly clean. He realizes that he doesn't have a table and he didn't even bring up a plate from the kitchen.

Hawke takes the basket over to the mat and sits down next to him. She peeks under the cover of the basket but she doesn't let him see what's inside. "I have this idea," she says, turning to him, "and I hope you play along but if you feel uncomfortable at any point, just say so and we'll stop."

He nods but he feels like there isn't enough air in the room for him to breathe. "I'll try but my skin doesn't feel good tonight..."

"I won't touch you if you don't want me to," she promises and her eyes seem to glow.

His mouth feels dry as he nods. She hands him a glass and fills it with water. It's very cold and tastes surprisingly good.

"Now to my idea," she says and puts down the waterbottle. "This evening is about finding out what you like and what you don't like. You'll close your eyes and I'll feed you little bits of food, and you decide if it's good or not. I'll make two piles and in the end, we'll see what kind of food you like. Would you do that?"

This actually sounds like fun and he is relieved that she didn't invite him to some strange sex game. He nods, "Yes, but no blindfold."

"I hadn't planned to blindfold you, keeping your eyes closed is your decision," she says. "If you want to see what you ate, just look at it."

He nods again. She has her hands under the small blanket that covers the basket and he hears cups clink against each other.

She looks up to him. "You want to start with something salty or with something sweet?"

"Salty." His voice sounds rough.

"Alright, have another sip of water and make yourself comfortable," she says and grins. "This is going to be so much fun!"

He drinks and then folds his legs in front of him and leans back against the heavy chair that stands to the side of the mat and the fireplace. He watches Marian's smile and slowly closes his eyes. He hears her shift and settle down next to him, and the soft creaking of the basket weave as she pulls it closer to her.

"Open your mouth," she says and her voice is so close that it startles him. He opens his mouth and something is placed on his tongue. He closes his mouth and chews slowly, trying to map the taste and texture.

He smiles when he recognizes it. "Cheese and bread, I know that I like that."

He hears her snicker. "I thought we start with something simple. So, cheese and bread go on the 'like' pile. Here comes something else, open..."

He smells something sweet coming towards him. It's cold and moist as it is placed on his tongue and the texture is crunchy when he chews. "This is strange but I like it. Is it fruit?"

"That's a piece of apple, they say that apple goes well with cheese."

"It does."

"Now try this."

It's another piece of cheese but this one is very different to the first one, it has more flavor. She even has a third kind of cheese to try, a very soft one with a sharp smell that they quickly place on the 'not like' pile. She continues with a piece of salty sausage from Anderfels and Fenris feels the tension fall away, the burning in his skin recedes to the background. He likes this game and he likes tasting all these different things.

He's tempted to open his eyes sometimes when he hears Marian laugh and giggle but he doesn't. He likes how he can picture her in his mind without his Lyrium enhanced vision. She keeps talking, telling him of the things she lets him try and he can hear how she smiles.

They switch from salty things to sweeter things and he can hear that she eats a few pieces of sweet bread and pastries too. "Hmm, I love this sweet bread, it's so good!" she gushes and he has to smile at all the smacking and licking sounds she makes. He likes the sweet bread too.

"This is the last bit I have, it's on a spoon."

Something with a very sweet smell comes close to his face. He opens his mouth and then closes his lips around the spoon, sucking off a gooey liquid. It's impossibly sweet and he says that he doesn't like it.

"Wait, now add a piece of bread," she says and places another piece of the bread that he had with cheese before on his tongue. It levels the sweetness of the soft substance and works well together.

"Now I like it," he says.

"Yes, that was probably a bit extreme. I gave you honey from Ferelden and it really should be eaten with bread. It's nice with bread, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"So, let's put honey with bread on the 'like' pile. Open your eyes," she says and he's almost reluctant to do it. His vision is blurry for a second and the Lyrium makes the light from the fire even brighter than it is but then his vision sharpens and he sees Marian smile at him. She sits between two arrangements of food, one bigger than the other.

"You like more than you don't like," she says and points at the bigger section. "Now, help yourself."

He doesn't care for the food, all he sees is her and the glow that surrounds her and warms him.

She looks at him questioningly, pointing at the food. "What do you want?"

His voice is hoarse. "I want to kiss you."

"Oh..." Her mouth stays open like that.

"Would you like to...?"

She giggles, "Oh Fenris, you have no idea."

She leans forward on her knees, slowly, looking into his eyes the whole time. Her lips touch his, softly at first and then more urgently.

He falls. He falls upwards.

All that holds him in this world is this connection to her, their lips touching, sucking, nibbling, tongues meeting and tangling. His hand crawls to the back of her head, pressing her lips against his, holding her. There is a moan between them and he isn't sure who made it.

She stops, gasping for breath. “Can I touch your hair?” She whispers. He nods and her hand rakes through his hair to the back of his head. Her eyes never leave his. “Your ears?”

He hesitates, elf ears are an erogenous zone, very sensitive and he's happy that the burn in his skin is not currently in the foreground of his mind, what if her touching his ears makes the pain flare up again? But at least the Lyrium marks don't extend to his head, except for the lines on his chin. He nods, “Yes but be careful, I don't know...”

She nods and crushes her lips against his again and her fingers tangle with the hair on the back of his head and her thumbs lightly stroke over his ears and he groans as lust floods his body and he sucks on her lips and presses his tongue against hers, moaning with every caress on his ears. His heart beats so fast, it wants to jump out of his chest.

She stops, gasping for breath and he leans forward so that their foreheads touch. They are both panting, still holding the others head.

“Maker, I...,” she huffs, “You are an incredible kisser...” She lets go of him and he almost falls forward when her weight against his forehead disappears. She leans back and stares at him. “I want you so much right now. So, so much.”

He's almost proud of himself that he can have such an effect on her. He can't deny his own desire either, it's clearly visible through the fabric of his pants. But he feels the pain under his skin, pinching and burning, just waiting to come back. “I'm sorry, I wish I could...”

She raises her hand, “You have nothing to be sorry about, far from it.” She's still heaving in air, her chest rising with every breath. “I can't even think straight right now... I actually had a plan...” She breathes in deeply and closes her eyes. She is glowing, her cheeks rosy and her hair is sticking out in every direction. She looks wonderful.

Fenris leans forward and puts his hand on her cheek and she leans into the touch. Her eyes open, blue stars shining at him. He strokes over her lips with his thumb, before letting his hand drop.

“Alright,” she says and holds out her hand, palm up, in that gesture that has become their own. He places his own palm on hers and that spark from her touch jumps through him again. She smiles at him and her voice is soft, “I think you worry that we can't be intimate when your skin is sensitive and I wanted to show you that there are many ways we could be with each other. I think that kiss just now very much proofed my point.”

He nods, and he can't stop looking at her lips, so soft and powerful, red like roses from their kiss.

“Would you try something else with me?” she asks and he nods again. She jumps up and pulls her tunic over her head. With a few swift moves, she drops her pants and whatever else she had under that tunic and is naked before he can even catch his breath. She throws another log on the fire and sits down again, the light of the flames dancing over her naked body. “Now you,” she says and points at the thin shirt and pants he wears.

He grins and undresses equally fast, for once not worried what she will think of his skin. Marian has seen his marks before and she had even called them beautiful. He is a bit embarrassed by his erection pointing upwards like a spear but he can hardly help it. That kiss and now her naked body in the light of the newly kindled flames, her smile and her eyes that rove hungrily over his body – how could he possibly not be aroused?

He kneels again and waits. She sits the same way and smiles as she watches him. She sits close to him and he notices that she smells differently, but they are not touching. “Now,” she says and her voice sounds hoarse and breathy at the same time, “now I want you to touch yourself.”

He looks at his hands and has no idea where they should go. Just grabbing onto his penis seems a bit too simple.

“You know best what feels good and what doesn't,” she says. “Like this...” and when he looks up, she is stroking over her chest, follows the curve of her small breasts and down her waist. She returns with both hands to her breasts and her fingers play softly on the dark nipples. He watches her, fascinated how her whole body seems to change color, patches of skin turning pink, her nipples getting darker.

“Now you, what do you like? What do you like to do when you... pleasure yourself?”

Her hands keep stroking over her own body but Fenris sits frozen. She stops her ministrations and leans forward. “Fenris? Do you never do that? Do you not masturbate?”

_Slaves are not allowed to give themselves pleasure unless ordered to by their master. How dare you deny your master?_

He shivers, coldness replacing desire. He stares ahead but what he sees is not this room.

A soft touch on his hand pulls him out of the memories. Marian leans forward, her eyes blue and wet and she softly strokes over the palm of his hand. “Listen, nobody can deny you this now, nobody! You are allowed to feel pleasure, you are allowed to find out what is right for you and what isn't. That's why I'm here. But we can stop if you like.”

“I don't know what I like,” he whispers.

“Yes you do,” she says and wipes her eyes. She points at the pile of food they had forgotten about. “You like cheese and bread and apples with cheese and you like honey if it's on bread but not without. And you like to kiss and you are phenomenally good at it, if I may say so.”

A tiny laugh bubbles out of him and he leans forward to press his lips on hers. She opens her lips with a sigh and he kisses her like he can drink life itself from her. Her hands come up but she stops before she touches his ears and interrupts the kiss to ask, “May I?”

He nods and claims her mouth again, his tongue searching for hers, every connection causing a spark of desire to jump through him. Her fingers stroke along the tips of his ears and he has to stop kissing her to throw his head back and moan.

“Touch yourself,” she whispers, “like this.” She keeps stroking over his hair and his ear with one hand but her other hand strokes downward on her stomach to her pubis, over the small field of hair. He can see her soft, wet lips and when two of her fingers slip between them, she whimpers. The sound makes him shudder and a drop of clear liquid glitters on the tip of his penis.

He doesn't want to place his hand on his stomach and irritate the Lyrium markings but at least his penis is free from those burning lines and he tentatively wraps his hand around it. A light pressure from his own hand makes him whimper, as a wave of pure energy rushes through him. Hawke watches his hand and her own fingers move in and out between her labia lips. A heady smell comes from her and it makes Fenris even harder.

He starts moving his hand up and down and it's almost too much to feel at once. Marian Hawke, kneeling naked in front of him, flushed and sweaty, her fingers moving between her legs, his own hand rubbing his penis, the smell from her, the whimpers and moans she makes. He moves his hand faster and harder and he moans too, low and needy and she puts her hand in the back of his neck and holds him, her forehead pressed against his and she is panting and whimpering and sometimes it sounds like she's almost crying and she whispers to him, “I'm here, I'm with you, you're so wonderful, I'm here... will you come for me?”

And that pressure builds up in him, he has almost forgotten how it feels and it builds and builds and his whole body goes hard and Marian cries out as her fingers move faster and her body is taut like a bow and she sucks in air with a gasp and he feels her shake and twitch and her moan right by his lips brings the pressure in his body to the breaking point and his release rushes through him as he cries out and spills over his hand.

She holds his forehead pressed to hers, her fingers lightly stroking the back of his neck as he shudders through the ebbing waves. She mumbles at him and hums, soothing words and sounds and he feels like crying and laughing at the same time.

The tension falls off him, his body is soft and calm and wants to rest. He sinks to the side and Marian places his head on a pillow. She gets up and he almost calls after her to not leave him but she comes back with a piece of wet cloth. She sits back down next to him and cleans him, still humming a little melody. Her hand is stroking over his hair as she covers him with a warm blanket. She puts another blanket over her own shoulders and leans down to him, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he manages to croak out as his eyes refuse to stay open.

“Then I'll stay, you can sleep,” she says and he falls into a dreamless sleep to her humming that little melody.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Amy and Manda for looking this over before I threw it out here.


	4. Watching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Poor Fenris is haunted by the memories of his time as Danarius’ “favorite”._   
>  _Warnings for abuse, memories of abuse, and for sex (of course) and threesomes._

* * *

They have not spoken after their night together. They have seen each other and he accompanies her on jobs and she smiles at him. Maker, how she smiles. But they never speak about that night or anything they had said.

Fenris remembers. She had said that she was willing to wait for him.

It is the one thought that manages to calm him down on all the nights he wakes up from nightmares of Danarius touching him. Not even drinking wine keeps the images of hands around his throat and pushing him down at bay. He feels being held, tied, bound by magic, splayed out open and defenseless or even worse – ready, eager and willing, wanting to please his loving master and he wakes on the scream that fights its way out of his throat when he hears _His_ voice.

_"My little wolf."_

He doesn't regret the memory of hearing Marian panting just like him, of feeling their foreheads touching, connecting them as passion shook them. But he regrets the images they have woken in him and when he jolts awake with a scream stuck in his throat, he has to pull hard at that memory to push the regret away.

It takes weeks and a sizable chunk of the wine cellar until he can sleep without nightmares again.

He is not ready. He can't be for her what she wants, what she needs him to be. Not yet.

And he sees how she looks at Isabela and he can't even be jealous. In a way, he looks at her the same way. Under that display of raw sexuality and selfishness is a friend who cares. Isabela hides who she is, she hides how much she cares. But it was Isabela who helped Hawke through the pain when her mother was killed. It was Isabela who made her laugh again after many weeks of grief. And it is Isabela who comes to his door and saunters in without asking for permission and makes him talk.

"Why do you avoid Hawke?" she asks, strolling through the great hall with the stairs. "And don't tell me that you don't. I know you had sex, I can see that from miles away."

Fenris coughs to hide that he choked on his own spit on that remark. "We didn't... not like that..."

"Are you trying to tell me that it wasn't sex because your manly staff didn't slide into her juicy grotto?" She laughs out. "Let me tell you of the many disappointing sex acts that involve only that."

"Please don't."

Isabela has found a chair to her liking and lays down on it in a way that looks scandalous and comfortable at the same time. He legs fall open, displaying dark golden skin all the way up to a small piece of black cloth. She let's her head drop back, her black hair falling down in waves behind the chair's backrest. "Fine, whatever. By what I heard from Hawke –" she makes a very deliberate pause and Fenris holds his breath, "– it sounded like it was spectacular!"

Fenris' skin heats up in a blush. "Hawke has told you about –?"

"Not in detail!" she interrupts before the feeling of betrayal can spread in his chest. "I ask her all the time but she never tells me anything." Isabela pouts. "Here I am, practically depraved and you guys didn't even let me join you."

 _That_ remark starts a whole other line of thought in Fenris' mind. Not an unpleasant one. But a forbidden one. His gaze falls towards her nether region with the little black cloth and he doesn't fail to notice how she seems to arrange herself on that chair for his viewing pleasure.

_Did I allow you to watch?_

He shakes himself out of the memory, pushing _His_ voice out of his mind with a deep breath.

"But last night she got a little bit more drunk than usual and I helped her home," Isabela says, smiling at him. "She mentioned something about not touching but still touching and it sounded very sexy."

Fenris feels desire rising up his back like a flickering flame just thinking about how she gasped and whispered as the waves of pleasure overcame them. How hot she was, how that one area of contact between their foreheads almost burned. "It was," he says with a voice so rough that he hardly recognizes it as his own.

"Oh, I can tell," Isabela smirks, joyfully staring at the bulge in his pants.

He turns around to hide his obvious arousal just as much as the deep blush on his face that he can feel spreading.

The chair creaks as Isabela finds another position, equally inviting and scandalous. Her bent back accentuates her breasts and her fingers play with the golden hoops on her ears and a lock of her black hair that she keeps curling around a finger. "Now that makes me wonder, why in the name of Andraste's tits have you stopped talking to Hawke?"

"It's complicated."

"Ah, you see, people always say that but it's hardly ever true," she says and gets up, wiggling her butt to let her dress fall back into place and saunters over to him. He can't move.

He can't deny that she is attractive with her curves, her breasts, her golden skin, her wild smile. She is open and free.

_Don't you dare look._

Another breath, another push against _Him.._

He forces himself to look at her, just watching. The tempest.

He wonders how much of it is an act, how much is actually real. The ladies of Tevinter held themselves chaste and prude until they had a reason to use their assets for their purpose. Then the high ladies turned into seductresses. But none of them ever held themselves quite like Isabela. None of them moved so naturally. He has no doubt that every single movement of her body is deliberate, from the way she draped herself over the chair to the slow steps she's now taking towards him.

She smiles while she talks but there is a harsh tone under her sultry voice, "I don't really care why you think it's _complicated_ to be with Hawke but I'm pissed off that she's retreating from me too." She stands in front of him but she dropped the seductress like a wet towel. He recognizes the way she stands now, it's her fighting stance and all she's missing are her daggers in her hands. Her voice is hard. "I may not understand what's biting your dick but I see that you're hurting her and that means you're messing with my fun. I have killed people for less."

He doesn't look away and he feels – desire. It feels different with her than what he feels for Hawke. Where Isabela is dark red lust, gripping and burning, Hawke is blinding white light, but soft and soothing at the same time.

Her eyes hold his gaze. He watches her standing in front of him, daring him to look at her with all her voluptuous curves, her breasts almost touching his chest.

He still wonders how much is part of her act because he is sure that he doesn't see all of Isabela. There is a glimpse of another Isabela sometimes, especially when she looks at Hawke, when her eyes turn softer and her voice cracks a little. He sees that look in her eyes right now, hidden under her shining locks falling over her face.

"I didn't mean to keep Hawke away from you," he says and he knows that it is a lie.

"Do you think Hawke belongs to you?" Isabela asks. Her voice has lost that seductive purr and she still holds the fighting stance. "I think you do and you told her as much."

"Hawke belongs to no one and I was wrong to think that –"

"That I wasn't good enough?" Isabela interrupts with a voice loud and clear, made to be carried over the planks of a ship in the storming sea.

"I'm sorry," is all he can say and it sounds rehearsed even to his own ears. And it is rehearsed in a way – nobody knows better how to apologize than a slave.

"I don't care that you're sorry," she hisses and bumps his shoulder as she walks past him. "You're coming with me right now and talk to her."

He follows her, he doesn't want to know what she'll do if he refuses. "What do you want me to say to her?"

"At this point? I don't even care." She pushes the door open and as she steps outside, her walk changes. It's not quite a walk anymore, she almost dances, her hips are swinging. She draws every man's and woman's attention and at the same time they seem to forget about her. She is sneaking in plain sight, a rare ability.

They walk the familiar path to the Amell estate in silence. Fenris feels the cobblestones under his feet and he knows these roads so well that he can tell where they are without looking up. The bumpy surfaces of worn down cobblestones of the main road change to the smooth and even surface of the mosaicked block roads of Hightown. The weak winter sun has not managed to warm up the stones and his feet are getting cold. He regrets not having put on the winter boots that Hawke had gotten him a month ago. Winters in Tevinter have nothing on winters in the Free Marches.

They round the corner and step into the open area in front of the Amell estate. Isabela wants to turn to the door but Fenris has spotted Hawke among a group of templars. Something is wrong. His Lyrium lines hum.

The templar who had introduced himself as Knight-Captain Cullen a while ago is saying something and judging by Hawke's reaction, he is in danger of getting his head chopped off for it. Aveline places a calming hand on Hawke's shoulder and Varric murmurs something as he casually pulls his crossbow out front.

"What did you just say?" Hawke growls at Cullen.

"Mages are not people like you and me, they can't be treated like us," the templar says, his voice trembling with conviction.

Isabela curses quietly next to him and a dagger seems to appear in her hand out of thin air. But Cullen continues, oblivious to the tangible anger that radiates from Hawke.

"If one mage loses control, they can destroy a whole city. They need to be controlled – "

"Oh really?" Hawke says, her chin only a handwith away from the templar's chestplate. "Controlled? Why not make them all tranquil? What perfectly controlled mages you'll have then." Her voice is getting dangerously low. "What about my sister Bethany that you like so much? You think she should be made tranquil? She would be your perfect little sex slave, never complaining, always willing."

That finally brings out a reaction in Cullen, he steps back and grabs for his sword. "How dare you say that? I would never abuse... Chantry law forbids making mages tranquil for such reasons, I would never – "

"Don't act like you don't know it happens; the tranquil are the circle's slaves and they get treated exactly like that." Hawke's hand is going for her sword but Aveline steps in front of her. She diffuses the confrontation somehow but Fenris is too distracted by the turmoil inside of him to hear what she says.

He had always liked the templars, they made him feel safe. They kept the mages under control and that was a good thing. The magisters of Tevinter were proof as to what happens if mages are free to do what they want. But being robbed of their own free will and held as a slave? Not even mages deserve that, at least not mages that are good like Bethany.

_Danarius should be made tranquil!_

He shakes off the icy grip of fear again.

Cullen is walking away with Aveline, occasionally looking over his shoulder. Varric shakes his head and puts Bianca back into her holster.

"Andraste's ass, some of us try to do business in this town, Hawke. I don't need templars as my enemies."

"I'm sorry," Hawke says, "I didn't want to start a fight but... they make mages tranquil just like that and Bethany is there and – " She rakes her fingers through her hair. " – I'm just..." She looks over to Fenris and he feels like he has to say something.

"They only make mages tranquil that are in danger of turning to demons –" He instantly regrets saying anything when he sees Hawke's eyes.

"Not true," Hawke spits out. "Anders' friend Karl was a full mage, he had passed his Harrowing a long time ago. They probably made him tranquil just to hurt Anders. There is a tranquil girl at the market, she says she asked too many questions. And I heard the templars at the Gallows talk about making mages tranquil as a punishment." Her eyes pierce deep into his soul. "They don't care about demons, they are making them slaves and then they abuse them in any way they like."

Slavers. Mages. He can't decide which is worse. She keeps looking at him and he stands frozen, caught in her anger.

Hawke let's out a sigh and finally looks away from him. She shoves her hands deep in the pockets of her coat and turns to Varric. "I'm going home, sorry, I don't feel like playing Wicked Grace tonight," she says.

Varric shrugs. "Suit yourself, you know where to find me if you change your mind." He nods towards Fenris and Isabela and saunters off. A group of dwarves and a giant qunari call him over, probably to kick off another one of Varric's strange business deals.

Isabela has taken Hawke's arm and walks with her towards the Amell estate. "Come on, Sweetcheeks, Fenris and I want to talk to you," she says, casting a look through her black locks to Fenris.

"Oh?" Hawke looks from her to him and raises her eyebrows. "Let's go inside then, Orana probably already has dinner prepared." She walks forward, almost stomping and her rigid posture betrays the casual front she puts up.

Isabela notices it too and places her hand on Hawke's shoulder. "Bethany is fine, she's a smart girl. Nothing will happen to her."

Hawke lets out a harsh breath. "She's just too good. She really wants to help and I think she actually wanted to go to the Circle, to get our mother finally out of the templar's focus." She makes a sound and Fenris isn't sure if she wants to cry or scream but it just turns into a rough sigh. "Turns out, that wasn't even the real danger."

Isabela's hand strokes soothing circles on Hawke's back. Fenris is glad that she's here to give her support; there is nothing he can do to help her. He doesn't even remember his family, what would he know about losing a mother?

They step inside to Bodahn's happy greeting. The huge fireplace is roaring and replaces the winter coldness with blistering heat. Orana, the young elf girl they had saved when they caught Hadriana, walks in with a plate of bread in her hand. She stops still when she sees Fenris and smiles. "Master Fenris, I'm so glad to see you!"

"Don't call me Master," Fenris bites back.

"Oh." The girl looks scared for a moment and Fenris regrets having spoken so harshly. She only knows how to behave like a slave and it takes much longer than a few months to get rid of habits and near instinctual reactions that have been trained into one from childhood. Or from the beginning of your memories.

"Just Fenris please," he says, keeping his voice softer.

She nods but doesn't say any more as she hurries to the dining room.

"Some habits are hard to break for her," Marian Hawke says as she takes off her coat. "She still calls me Mistress sometimes. We spoke about it at length and she says she feels uncomfortable just calling me Hawke. So now I'm torn, is me feeling uncomfortable with her calling me Mistress more important than her feeling?"

"What did you agree on?" Isabela asked.

Hawke crunches up her nose. "Lady," she presses out between her teeth.

Isabela howls in laughter and almost falls backwards over the bench she sat on to take her boots off.

"Stop laughing," Hawke says, pretending to be angry but the twinkle in her eyes tells a different story.

Isabela keeps giggling as she places her boots next to the fireplace. Hawke grins and picks up her coat to hang it up next to hers near the fireplace and holds out her hand for Fenris'. She doesn't even notice how significant that is. She has servants to do this now but she never adapted to the noble lifestyle. At her core she is still the girl that took care of the farm in Ferelden. The bench at the wall has a new leg and Fenris is pretty sure that she fixed it herself. It would explain the splinter in her finger that she keeps picking at.

Isabela takes her arm and pulls her towards the light of the fire. She pulls the skin on Hawke's finger taut and removes the splinter with her fingernails. Hawke raises her hand to stroke over her hair but stops with a look towards Fenris. Her hand drops.

Isabela looks over to Fenris and he understands.

"We... I wanted to talk to you," he says, "about, well, that."

"What?" Hawke says, her hand still rigid down her side.

"I have no right to demand that you stay away from Isabel for me," he says and is very much aware of how the two women are watching him. "I'm not ready to be what you want –"

"Didn't we already establish that you have a right to wants too?" Hawke says, her hand slowly relaxing.

"What I want is for you to be happy," he blurts out, "I don't want you to stay away from Isabela for some vague idea like that."

"But..." Hawke protests but Isabela has gotten up and wraps her arms around her from the back.

"What Sparkly here is saying is that he won't be mad if you kiss me sometimes, am I right?" She looks to him over Hawke's shoulder and he tries to map his feelings as he watches the two women.

What he feels is not the burn of jealousy but something that makes him take a step forward.

"What do you want, Fenris?" Hawke asks quietly. She has one hand on Isabela's hand on her chest but she holds her other hand out open towards him.

He takes another step.

Isabela holds out one hand too. "I'm not taking her away from you."

Hawke takes his hand and pulls a little. "Come here, Fenris," she says and suddenly he is with them, forehead buried in Hawke's shoulder, Isabela's lips on his temple, hands lightly holding him and stroking his arms. A breath leaves him in a whimper.

He is welcome, he is wanted.

A soft cough comes from the door. Orana stands there and wrings her hands. "I'm sorry Mistre – Lady Hawke, I'm sorry, I didn't..." She looks close to tears.

Hawke doesn't let go, she just lifts her nose out of Fenris' hair and smiles at Orana. "Don't apologize, you did nothing wrong."

"I just..." The girl pulls her self together and speaks loud and clear, "Dinner is ready, Lady Hawke."

"Thank you Orana, we'll be right there."

Both Marian and Isabela press a soft kiss on Fenris cheeks before they let go of the embrace. There is a moment of awkwardness and the inability of meeting each others eyes; until Isabela steps between Fenris and Hawke and pinches them both in their butt cheeks. The squeaks and laughter chase the awkwardness away.

Dinner passes quickly. Isabela tells stories from her travels, Hawke talks about how her family lived on the farm in Ferelden. Fenris just listens, enjoying the simple food. They have bread, creamy cheese with herbs and thinly sliced ham. There is fresh water and milk on the table but no wine. Fenris is surprised to see Hawke drink a whole glass of milk, something that he has only seen children do.

"How very Ferelden of you," Isabela remarks and wipes the milky remains off from Hawke's lips.

"To drink milk?" Hawke says, placing a little kiss on Isabela's thump. "Sometimes, milk was all we had. Finding food for the cows and the goats was the most important job for us children during the winter."

Fenris stares at her. It feels like a revelation to know that Hawke knows what hunger feels like. Hunger for him had been a tool of torture. Whenever his master had lost interest in him for some arbitrary reason, he had handed him over to Hadriana. He was too strong for her, she couldn't hurt him physically and she couldn't leave marks. But she had magic and plenty of time. She held him caged, trapped by magic and wouldn't give him food for days. He remembers the burning bite of hunger, the weakness eating at his bones.

He looks at the simple meal on the table in front of him and sees it with different eyes. He had seen the most opulent meals in Tevinter, had tasted the most exotic fruits and dishes when his master allowed him at the table. But what he sees here is more luxurious than anything he has seen in Tevinter. This is a meal of someone who doesn't take a full meal every day for granted. And the food tastes better than anything he had eaten when he was a slave.

Hawke seems to be lost in thought, staring unfocused at the fire. "I never would have thought that I would live like this one day." She raises her hand and points at the bookshelves and the pictures on the walls. "I mean, this has literally been my one big dream. To live in a big house with books and always have enough to eat."

"You've put books before food as a child?" Isabela asks, before putting another piece of bread in her mouth.

"Oh yes, I always loved books. Even when everything was bad, mother made us read and write every day and she always manged to find books for us. Granted, some books were rather boring, like instructions for farming and how to treat sheep illnesses. But I still loved to read them, all the words." She looks over to Fenris and he feels his ear tips heat up in expectation of the inevitable question. "What about you? Did you have books to read in Tevinter?"

Fenris looks away. "A slave doesn't need to know how to read."

"Oh," Hawke is lost for words for a moment, "of course, that makes sense."

"It makes sense?" Fenris explodes, anger making his Lyrium lines light up.

"They wouldn't want you to get ideas," Marian said calmly, "books are dangerous like that, you could have started to think about your life and if there was something else out there for you."

His anger dies down and in the corner of his eye he sees Isabela relax and pick a fruit from the basket on the table.

Hawke smiles at him and gets up. She goes to a shelf full of little things and picks out a blue and grey feather among an assortment of seashells, rocks and more feathers. Fenris now knows where the things she picks up on their tours go. She hands him the feather.

"This is a promise. If you ever want to learn to read and write, I will teach you."

"Why the feather?" he wonders.

"It's the symbol for writing and I want you to remember that I'm willing to teach you if you want," Hawke says.

"I won't forget," Fenris says, holding the feather against the light of the fire. The delicate structure shimmering in the light. "And I might ask you one day."

He places the feather next to his gauntlets on the table. Isabela has gotten up and wraps her arm around Hawke's hip. She places a kiss right under Hawke's ear and both their eyes flutter close. Fenris leans back in his chair and keeps watching. His own reaction surprises him, he likes what he sees.

Not long ago, seeing Isabela saunter into Hawke's home had cut his insides in a feeling that he now recognizes as jealousy. But after their night, after knowing how she feels for him, after feeling the heat pass between them as she cried out her passion along with him – the jealousy is gone. Seeing Isabela caress Marian and seeing her leaning into the touch is now a thrill.

"Look how he's watching us," Isabela purrs. She uses her forefinger to draw a slow circle around Hawke's nipple through the fabric of her tunic and Hawke reacts with a gasp. "Would you like to watch some more or maybe join in?" Isabela asks and Hawke's eyes fly open.

"Only if you want to," she hurries to assure, "only if you feel comfortable to..."

"I'm not entirely sure," Fenris says, "but I would like to watch. I think."

"Let's take this to the bedroom," Hawke says. "And you..." she looks at Fenris and he can see how she tries to find the right wording, "you just go as far as you are comfortable."

Fenris nods and gets up to follow the two women. Isabela has her hand on Hawke's butt and she's applying a light squeeze occasionally. There is a slither of doubt in his mind, wondering what he's doing. His mind wants to conjure all the images and memories of what he has known as sex all these years and he desperately fights to hold them down.

_Not this, not now._

_This will be different._

Hawke is on Isabela, kissing her, as soon as the door has closed behind them. The women stumble more than walk to the bed, Isabela jumping up and being carried by Hawke's strong arms. They fall on the bed in a heap, hands grabbing and stroking, lips kissing and nibbling. Fenris hesitates to get closer, he feels like a voyeur, watching from the darkness.

Hawke turns and holds out her hand. "Would you like to come closer?" she asks him. He goes towards them, wondering if he should pull up a chair but Hawke gently encourages him to sit on the bed. He leans against the headboard, spreading his legs and watches the women kiss.

Hawke quickly drops her clothes and Fenris admires her strong shoulders and the play of muscles on her back in the light of the fire. Isabela doesn't take of her clothes, she seems to enjoy that Hawke undoes the buckles and sashes and slowly peels her out of her dress. He long dark hair flows over her shoulder and hides her breasts like a curtain until Hawke parts them. She kisses each nipple, softly suckling on them until they darken and Isabela lets out a moan.

That seems to be a sign between them because now Isabela trails kisses down Hawke's neck, making her gasp. She also gets soft kisses on her breasts but Isabela quickly returns to her neck. It seems to be Marian's weakness, judging by the way she sighs and shudders when Isabela kisses her there.

There is a certain decadence to this, watching the women caress each other. But he loves it, it is so different to what he knows. So much love, so much care. Watching others, watching _Him_ having sex was a regular thing but he has never seen anything like this. No harsh pushing, no muffled screams. No pain.

Just joy.

This is what he desires, more than anything. Yes, their bodies moving against each other is arousing but that's not why he can't take his eyes off them.

They cling to each other, searching for contact and when Isabela moves down her body, Marian seems to not want to let her go. But the woman smiles and pulls free to kiss her way down Marian's stomach. She digs her nose into the patch of dark curly hair before she places a kiss on that soft area that makes Marian gasp in joy. Isabela looks up and smiles at Marian. She wiggles her tongue at her, teasing her and Marian laughs but her laugh turns into a moan when Isabela drags her tongue over the slit and the bundle of nerves. She moans and strains against Isabela's mouth, her hands fisting into the sheets. Isabela kisses, sucks and licks between Marian's legs, eliciting more gasps and moans from her.

Fenris feels hot, it almost seems as if Marian is glowing and emitting heat. Desire grows in him, something like hot lust that pulls him forward. It feels as if the lyrium in his lines pulls him towards her, as if his lines need to get closer to her. He doesn't understand it but he remembers this feeling. It had felt this way when _He..._

Marian suddenly pulls away from Isabela, to the surprise of her. "What's the matter Sweetcheeks?" Isabela asks, licking her lips, "you haven't come yet, did you?"

"It's alright, it's your turn now," Marian says and pulls Isabela back up. She trails kisses down her body and settles down between Isabela's legs. Her hands stroke over brown skin, mapping every curve as her tongue and lips work on Isabela's core. The beautiful pirate sighs and giggles and soon she is squirming and panting. Marian's face is half hidden but he can still see that she smiles. Isabela arches her back, her hands raking through her own hair and, surprising himself, Fenris leans forward to touch her hands.

The disturbing pull in his lines is gone but it still feels like a spark hits him when Isabela takes his hands. She pulls him forward so that he leans over her face, almost but not quite touching. Her breath goes over his face as she moans and when she finally tenses, her hands squeezing his, her back arching – her scream washes against his skin like a seismic wave.

_Didn't that feel good, my little wolf? You have been so good..._

Fenris stifles the disgusted sound that wants to crawl out of his choking throat. Why does he have to remember? Of the few memories he has, why does he have to keep returning to this one, to this feeling? When it was good, when he didn't know better, when he believed this to be right? When he had been so proud to please?

Isabela is curled up in bliss but Marian notices something in his expression. She crawls up to take Isabela in her arms but her eyes are on him.

Fenris breathes. _In – out – push it away – push it down – in – out._ When he opens his eyes again, Marian is still watching him.

"You alright?" she asks. Isabela in her arms stretches backwards to look at him too and he mentally shields himself against some snarky remark; but she just looks worried. She still holds one of his hands and her thump is softly stroking over the inside of his wrist.

"I'm fine," he breathes out, closing his eyes to hide what might possibly be tears. Something softly touches his cheek and even though he knows that it is Marian's hand, he flinches.

Her hand springs up. "I'm sorry," she says and her hand hovers in the air, not touching him but not moving away either and he looks her in the eyes and leans into her hand, taking her warmth, taking her touch. He closes his eyes and listens to the women breathing.

The tightness in his throat slowly dissipates and his heart calms down. There is so much warmth spreading through him from Marian's hand, more than warmth. It feels like his whole body feeds on her energy and warmth. It feels so good, so familiar, so like...

_Him!_

He jumps up, practically falling over his feet as he scrambles to get out of the room.

_This is wrong, this should not be here, not now, not with them, not with her, not this!_

"Fenris!" Hawke calls after him and he can see that she's about to get up as he runs out of the door. She reaches him at the dinner table, where he puts on his gauntlets. Her nakedness doesn't seem to bother her. "Fenris," she tries again, careful and quiet this time, "please, talk to me."

"You said I would only have to go as far as I'm comfortable," he spits out. He doesn't understand why he is so angry.

"Yes, of course," Hawke says and if she's taken aback by his aggression, she doesn't let it feel through her voice. "But I didn't think you would flee as if a wild boar was on your tail."

He finally turns to look at her but he can't hold her gaze long. He can see how much she is hurting. "I'm sorry, I just can't... there are these memories, they haunt me, they keep coming back."

"Memories? From before you were a slave?" She still stands beside him, radiating warmth despite her nakedness.

"No, memories of Danarius, of what he did –" he forces his mind to not let those images out now, "– I didn't know back then, I didn't know what was good and what wasn't."

Hawke has her hand pressed to her mouth as if she is trying to stifle a scream. She takes a hard breath before she can speak again. "I'm so sorry, Fenris. I want to say that all of that is in the past but... these things take time, I know they take time and you have to give yourself time."

Fenris grits his teeth and the gauntlets on his hands creak as he clenches his fists. "I want these thoughts gone, I want these memories gone. I'm still a slave to memories."

"They will fade," Marian says and places a hand on his gauntlets, "can I help you in any way? I don't want to pressure you..."

He holds up the feather she had given him and looks at the light peeking through the delicate structure. "You will teach me to read?" he asks, not looking at her.

"Yes," she says without hesitation, "when ever you're ready."

He puts the feather into a pocket and picks up his sword. "I will let you know."

He walks towards the door, Hawke in all her nakedness following him. Bodahn covers Sandal's eyes when they walk through the main hall. At the door, Hawke's hand on his arm stops him.

"You're going back to your mansion?"

"It's not my mansion."

"But you are going back there?"

"Yes."

"You're not going to disappear?"

Fenris looks up and dares to hold her gaze for a second. "I won't disappear."

"Good, I'll see you then," Hawke says and her smile fills his heart.

"Yes, I'll see you." He gives her a nod and leaves, quickly closing the door behind him to protect her from the cold.

He will not disappear, he will not run.

It will be weeks before he realizes that he did just that.

* * *


	5. Burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter today but it covers a long time. Funny how that works.
> 
> For today's theme I'm not sure if I'm basing it on accepted fan-canon or if I read this idea somewhere or if I actually came up with it myself. It may be a mixture of all of it.
> 
> Warnings for pain, abuse and addiction.

* * *

The mansion is even colder than the streets outside and he is too restless to settle down in his room. After pacing and stomping around, he picks up his weapons and puts on the winter boots and the coat that Hawke had gotten for him. Nights in Kirkwall are not recommended for a nice evening stroll but he needs to get out, he needs to walk and clear his thoughts.

Through the boots he can't feel the cobblestones anymore and he almost gets lost on his way to the docks. Twice a few street dwellers try to intimidate him, presumably to rob him but one look at his sword is enough to scare them away.

The docks are quiet tonight, and it makes him notice the sound of harsh whispers even more. With his lyrium enhanced vision he can make out a few humans, dressed in work clothes and cheap boots, who usher about fifteen small figures down the dockside. He sneaks closer to see better and it confirms his suspicion. These are elf children and by they way the workers treat them, they are not on a voluntary vacation.

Slavers. Fenris curses soundlessly. What he would give to have Hawke and Isabela here now, the three of them would have the children freed in no time. But he is alone and getting Hawke would take too long. He has to follow the slavers. Maybe down in the slaver caverns on the Wounded Coast he can find a better angle to attack them.

He will be gone for a few days but it's not like he's leaving Kirkwall. He will just hunt a few slavers.

Hawke will understand.

* * *

The slavers are unprepared for the viciousness of his attack. They are brutal men but untrained and their weapons are cheap. Fenris had followed the group for hours to a choke point in the trail and only a few minutes later, the slavers are dead. The children hide behind a boulder, one small elf girl bravely clutching a stick to defend them. They stare at him in fear and the girl pokes him with her stick.

Fenris is at a loss as to what to do with them. It takes an hour of him waiting and talking to them until they finally trust him enough to follow him back to Kirkwall.

It takes them almost a day to get back to the city. The children are tired and weak, they probably haven't been given any food. By the time the gates come in view, he carries two children on his back and another clings to his belt. After their initial distrust, they are now practically enamored with him and keep asking him questions. They also want to touch his lyrium brands but a look from him convinces them otherwise. He learns that the elf girl with the stick is called Serlia and is an orphan.

Serlia is chatting away as they reach the gates. She seems to be an intelligent girl and he is glad that he spared her from her destiny as a slave. But if he just leaves her and her friends on the streets in Kirkwall, they will be not better off than before.

Hawke. Hawke will know what to do with them.

He can somehow convince the guards that Sera Hawke expects to see these children. Hawke's reputation is enough for the guards to turn slightly pale and wave them through.

Hawke isn't home so he just leaves the huddle of children with Bodahn and flees before the children attach themselves to him again. Outside he stands lost but also proud of himself. He has fought slavers with Hawke before but this – this he did on his own. It is his own accomplishment.

There are many slavers in the Free Marches, many children nobody watches out for. Slaves that don't know how to be free. He will find them and bring them to Hawke.

He turns to leave but stops. Should he tell her good bye? Could he look in her eyes and explain to her that he has to leave? That he has to do more than just follow her? That he needs time to know what he feels?

He takes the feather out of his pocket and uses a piece of thread to tie it to the doorhandle. Hopefully she will know that he means it as a promise to return soon.

He has to do this. Hawke will understand.

* * *

A familiar voice calls to him at the city gates. Varric separates himself from a group of dwarf merchants and steps in his way. "What's up, Kiddo?"

Fenris waves him off and walks past him. "Nothing of your concern, I'm just leaving."

"What, you mean for good?" Varric laughs as if he's made a joke but the smile falls from his face when he looks at Fenris. "You really are leaving? Forever?"

Fenris shakes his head and stops to face him. "Not forever, just for a while."

"Did anything happen with Hawke? I thought you two were getting along so well."

"It has nothing to do with her," Fenris snaps, "it's my decision."

"Andraste's ass, did you not even tell her?" Varric stares at him and his hand twitches toward his bow as if he's contemplating to stop Fenris from leaving by shooting him.

"I will explain when I come back," Fenris says and turns back towards the gates. He walks and blocks out the noise of the city but he can't block out Varric's voice yelling behind him as he goes through the city gate.

"Do you _have_ to ruin this? Is that something you just have to do? You're going to regret this!" the dwarf shouts after him but he doesn't follow. Fenris keeps walking, one foot in front of the other, out of the city, past the lines of refugees that still try to get into the city. He leaves the harbour behind him, walks along the Wounded Coast until the path curves land inward. He walks on narrows pathways through the Planasene Forrest until the sun sets and he can't see his own feet anymore.

He finds refuge in a cowshed and pays the farmer with a coin for the shelter and a plate of bread and cheese. The ground is cold but the straw is dry as he settles down, wrapped in his coat and leaning against a pile of straw to rest. It takes him a long time to fall asleep, despite being tired and exhausted.

There is a nagging uneasiness in him. Maybe he should have said good bye. But Hawke will understand.

* * *

The boots and the coat take up a lot of room in his rucksack. Not for the first time he wonders if he should store them somewhere or sell them. Summer has finally arrived in the Free Marches but winter will come back one day. He could buy a new coat and boots then but Hawke had given him these. He won't sell them.

He strokes over the worn leather of the boots with his thump before he covers them with the coat and the rest of his belongings. He puts his provisions on top and gets up – only to groan and fall to his knees. His markings have always hurt, he has always felt the lyrium swarm through them, biting and searing. But recently it has gotten worse. The lyrium screams and burns, every single line like the lash of a whip biting into his skin.

Not even his breathing helps against the pain pulling tight over his body and he curls in on himself, whimpering. He fumbles for the jar of spindleweed leaves in his bag. Chewing one or two of the dried leaves numbs the pain for a while. He used to refuse the remedy because it also made him tired and slower in his reactions but for the last few days he couldn't even get up without it.

The elves he has found yesterday look at him concerned. It is group of five women, two older, two children and one old like a grandmother. They seem to be a family. Unlike the other elves Fenris has met, they are not slaves, at least not yet. They are travelers, they have left their home and crossed the Vimmark Mountains to reach Kirkwall because – they said it is important. Fenris doesn't ask for specifics, everybody has a reason to go to Kirkwall today.

He has decided to protect them on their way though. With the masses of people going to Kirkwall, they would probably fall victim to some of the more unpleasant visitors along the way. But instead of protecting them, they ended up taking care of him. The pain burning in his markings had forced them to a stop at the Wounded Coast and he chewed twice the normal amount of spindleweed leaves to be able to breathe again. But the numbness made him unsure on his feet, stumbling half blinded by the sunlight. He was forced to sit down and rest.

To his surprise the elves didn't leave him, even though the towers of Kirkwall were already visible in the distance. They stayed with him, watching over him as he slept.

Now the grandmother comes over to him with a wet cloth. She takes the jar with the spindleweed from his hand and shakes her head.

"Only the soon to be dead take the death flower so easily. You should not take it," she says and holds the cold cloth against the markings on his arm. He hisses as it touches the lines, the relieve so fleeting, the pain choking him even harder.

"I need it," he groans. Wine used to be enough but wine is rare out in the woods and what few inns he found, they wouldn't sell him as much as he needed. Spindleweed has been his companion for months now.

"You need to go to a healer," the old woman says, "the lyrium calls for magic. You need a mage healer."

"No!" Fenris presses out between clenched teeth and wrestles the jar with the dried leaves from her hands. He doesn't even count them, just takes a handful to shove them in his face, to stop this, to stop the burning, the searing pain of the brands, cutting through his body.

The woman grabs his wrist and holds it with surprising strength. "From this sleep you will never wake," she yells at him.

The lines burn – flare – bright – searing.

He is about to phase out of her hands when another hand appears on his arm. One of the girls, her hand half the size of his, holds his arm down. She has marks on her hand, lines drawn with ink over scars to hide them. He stares at her marks, his vision focusing on that one thing, her marks, her lines. It is all he sees before the world turns dark.

He comes back around to the familiar smell of Darktown. The two elven women carry him on a gurney, hastily made from two young tree trunks and his own blanket. Someone has taken off his armor and he shivers in his thin shirt. He turns his head but everything blurs in front of him.

"You're going to be fine, Fenris," a familiar voice tells him and after a breath his vision clears enough that he recognizes Merrill's face. She tries to smile at him but it doesn't quite work. There is a moment of relief to see a familiar face, followed by a bite of fear. Merrill, the bloodmage!

_Not my blood!_

"Not... your magic," he presses out, "not... bloodmage..."

"I know," Merrill says and if she is hurt by his remark, she doesn't show it. "We're taking you to Anders."

Fenris wants to groan at the irony but the pain draws tight again, the brands screaming through his skin. He wants to curl up on himself and he wants to rip off his skin and he wants to fall into the blackness again.

A single lamp in the damp and smelly darkness of Darktown tumbles into his view, passes over him and stays outside. It feels warm around and new voices mumble and groan, whimper and cry. Someone helps him to sit up and places a bowl with warm liquid at his lips. He takes a sip and, recognizing the taste of spindleweed, greedily drinks it down.

The numbing spreads out in his body, taking the edge off the pain a bit slower than he is used too but he can finally relax. His vision clears, he recognizes Anders' clinic now. The two girls stand next to the cot their mothers placed him on, watching him. The two women and the grandmother stand around Anders. The grandmother talks to him in hushed whispers and they keep looking at him over their shoulders. Merrill is nowhere to be seen.

Anders nods and comes to his cot. He kneels down and thanks the girls for watching over him and promises them each a cookie. The elf girls squeal in joy and run over to their mothers.

"Everybody out now, I need to speak to Fenris alone," Anders says and draws a curtain closed behind him. They can hear people leaving until only the whimpers and sighs of the remaining patients are left. Anders sits down next to the cot on a small stool, his knees almost bumping against his ears. The numbness has spread enough that Fenris can sit up and look at Anders' face. But it feels as if his hands move to slow, as if the air is thick like water and slows down his hands. Spiderwebs have settled on his skin; he can't see them, he can't wipe them away.

Anders watches him and then holds his hand over Fenris' arm. It glows blue and the air seems to contract around it. It pulls him forward, it draws at him, the lyrium strains towards Anders' hand. The light dies down and Fenris instantly misses it. He stares at Anders' hand and at the mage's face and hate wells up in him.

"What have you done, mage? What magic is this?" he wants to yell but it only comes out as a rasp.

"This isn't my fault," Anders says with a sigh. "The lyrium in your markings needs to be maintained, it needs magic to align itself."

The pain comes back with an angry bite and makes Fenris curl up again. "What are you waiting for then, abomination?" he cries.

"Well, calling me an abomination and then asking me to help you is not the wisest combination but I'll let it slide." Anders gets up and pulls his robe tight. "Feeding magic into your markings is... it is very intimate, like a sexual act. I don't feel comfortable doing that, you don't even like me and I'm not a rapist..."

The burn is getting worse and Fenris bites into his hand to stop himself from screaming. "Mage, please! I can't bear this anymore, I'm asking you to do this."

"It may raise memories..."

"It already does."

Anders turns back to him and kneels down next to the cot. "Alright, brace yourself."

Anders places his hands on the skin on Fenris' shoulders and he instantly recognizes this posture.

Danarius had done this all the time when he... _when he held him down and Fenris begged his master like a good slave to allow him to please him, to pleasure him and be allowed to feel pleasure himself. Danarius had loved it when he begged, had drawn it out, his hands on his shoulders, burning hot and sizzling with magic. The lyrium in his skin yearned for this magic, pulled towards it, almost ripping his skin. His master had waited, controlled, until pleasure mixed with pain – built to a searing fire and then –_

Fenris gasps when Anders lets the magic flow into his lines. The lyrium sings and sighs, it flows and rushes towards the blue glow. The magic washes over him, a wave of pleasure, white and soothing, warm and he sobs as the lyrium calms and the pain disappears. It has been years since he felt this good.

Anders lets go and lays him down. He pulls a blanket over him and he doesn't comment on the tears that run down Fenris' face. His hand hovers over Fenris' head as if he wants to stroke his hair but he stops himself and turns away, pulling the curtain back over to give him some privacy to cry.

When the tears have stopped, Fenris gets up and leaves without a word, dropping a few coins in the bowl at the door. He should go and see Hawke but he walks straight back to the city gate. He needs to be alone.

Hawke will understand.

* * *


	6. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Fenris and Hawke meet again. Dun dun duunnnnn! I apologize if Fenris appears to be a bit clueless in this chapter but I think he actually is. He has so few memories of healthy interaction between people, I imagine he has a lot of trouble predicting how people act and react. Unfortunalty for Fenris and Hawke that means that we are not at our happy end here._

* * *

There is frost on the leaves and grass in the morning, a silvery cover that feels crisp under his feet. His feet are getting cold if he stands still too long, soon he will have to put on the boots again. 

He takes out the coat from the rucksack and stills. Has it really been that long that he left Kirkwall? All through spring, summer and autumn? Almost a year? He never meant to stay away for so long. 

Since Anders had fed magic into his brands, the pain has retreated to a dull thrum that courses through his markings when they light up. His mind has cleared, free to focus on other things. He can learn again, like he used to in Tevinter. Learn from watching people, learn from what people say. He had not been allowed to learn to read but he had always been a good listener. 

He learns bits and pieces of the dalish language form the elves he frees from their captors and brings to Kirkwall and about their customs and their knowledge of nature. He still doesn't feel quite elven but he loves learning of their heritage. Maybe he can even feel a connection to them.

A Tal-Vashoth travels with him for a while, an outcast like him, lending his strength and weapon to Fenris' cause. It feels good to have a companion in the fight, to have someone to trust at his back. The Tal-Vasoth teaches him more of the qunlat language and when he leaves to travel further north over the Vimmark Mountains, Fenris offers him a name. He doesn't know if the Tal-Vashoth will accept it one day but he calls him Honour when they say good bye and the great horned figure bows his head to the name. 

Every night, when he begins to feel lonely, he imagines how he would tell Hawke and Isabela of his day. What he learned, what he saw, the people he met. The names of the plants in the Planasene Forrest and what the dalish know of them. The new dalish words he learned. Isabela would smile and repeat them with a silly voice and Hawke would say them too and write them down. And she would show him how to write them down himself. 

In his fantasy, Hawke holds his hand with the quill, gently guiding it across the page while Isabela watches and feeds them grapes. 

He misses them, the care, the companionship, the love. He wants to go back. It has been too long.

The days warm up slowly, the sun just a weak yellow spot in the sky as they trudge along the Wounded Coast. He wonders how his bed would feel after all these months of sleeping in the woods and in stables. How loud it will be at night compared to the loneliness of the forest.

Kirkwall comes into view after many days of travel and he sends his group of elves and humans along like all the others before; to tell the guards that Sera Hawke expects them. The guards just nod and wave them through and to Fenris' surprise an elf seems to expect them. The girl greets the newcomers and leads them through the city and Fenris has the distinct feeling that she isn't doing this for the first time. 

He hesitates to follow them, an uneasy feeling spreading in his chest. He wants to see Hawke, he has imagined meeting her and Isabela so many times but now he isn't sure. So much has happened since he left. What if they don't need him anymore?

He turns to Lowtown, heading for the Hanged Man. Maybe he can find Varric there.

The tavern at least hasn't changed at all. The same rank smell, the same broken tables, even the crying drunk at the bar seems to be the same guy. Fenris takes in the fumes of ale and wine and there is an urgent, familiar yearning in his chest for the taste of wine and the feeling of it running down his throat. He pushes it away, he hasn't needed wine in months, he will not start again now.

He scans the room for familiar faces. He stops short on the sight of a tall woman with short, dark hair. Her back is turned to him and her armor looks unfamiliar but he knows instantly that this is Hawke. Something explodes in his chest, a painful longing taking over him. 

"Hawke."

He must have said it out loud because she winces and turns around slowly. She sees him and her eyes widen. A relieved smile seems to start on her face but then it's gone.

"Fenris." 

The way she says it, cold and calculated, is so different from what he had imagined. It hits him like a wall of ice and the enthusiastic greeting from Merrill is lost on him. He hasn't expected a hug or a kiss but at least a smile or even just a few more words. Not this cold look on a face that hides everything.

Hawke takes his arm and pulls him towards the light at the door. She looks him over, her eyes lingering on a fresh cut on his temple where a qunari sword scraped him a few days ago. She notices her hand still holding his arm and flinches away as if she burned herself.

"It's good to see you," she says, her voice cold and hard again.

"I... had hoped to see you..."

"Are you staying?" 

He opens his mouth but he can't speak. Seeing her like this, so hard, so angry – it feels like a knife. A knife that slashes through the picture he had built of her, the image of Hawke who smiled at him when he came back, who understood why he left. 

She stares him down, her eyebrows drawn tight and for a moment it looks like she wants to strangle him. But then it all changes. "Where were you?" Hawke blurts out. "You just left! Just like that, no words, no explanations, nothing! And that stupid message you left with Varric..." 

Something must have shown in his face because her expression turns even darker.

"Oh, that wasn't even a message from you, I see. Good to know that you didn't even care that much. Enough to see Anders cause you needed some healing but not enough to..." she stops and gathers her things and walks away from him, hiding her face. "I'll... I'll see you," she says and her voice sounds wet and raw. 

She walks out of the bar without looking back and Fenris wants to run after her but his feet seem to be bolted to the floor. "What have I done?" he whispers to himself.

"You fucked up, that's what you did," says a familiar voice behind him.

He turns around and sees Varric scowling at him, scowling like only a dwarf can.

"You left without a word, she was worried sick. I even had to make up something about you leaving a message with me..." he stops when he sees Fenris' expression, "oh great, so that didn't work. Now she's going to be mad at me too."

Varric sighs and gestures to Fenris to follow him. When he hesitates, he snaps, "Come on now, you can at least learn what happened while you were gone." He leads them to the table where Aveline and Merrill are sitting and places a mug with ale in front of him. "What were you thinking, Broody?"

"I thought she would understand." He looks at the ale but he doesn't touch it.

Varric shakes his head. "I bet she would have understood if you had told her where you went, or maybe left a message with someone."

"I tied a feather to the door handle." It sounds ridiculous to say it out loud, how could he have assumed that a feather would mean something to her.

Varric throws his hands up, almost spilling his ale. "A feather? In this windy city? That feather is probably flying around in some chicken den with all its feather friends." He leans forward and looks him in the eyes. "She had nothing, nothing from you. At first she thought you ran away from slavers, then she thought that slavers caught you and then she thought you died."

Heat makes his neck flush. No matter what had been between them, the least he could have done would have been telling her why he left. He buries his face in his hands. "I'm an idiot."

Merrill shakes her head. "You just didn't think. We were all really worried about you. I was shocked when they brought you in the alienage, you were in so much pain, but at least I knew then you weren't dead."

"You worried?", Fenris asks on genuine surprise. He had never been exactly nice to Merrill.

Aveline looks at him with stern eyes. "Do you think we did not worry? Wondered where you went? You are our friend, you idiot. I went along with the guards at the Wounded Coast, looking for you, for your body. Do you think I liked doing that? And Hawke," she sighed, "she just stopped... being Hawke."

"I'm sorry," Fenris mumbles. Friend. It had never occurred to him. 

"You have someone else to apologize to," Varric says.

"I'll find her now," Fenris says and gets up.

"This won't be easy," Varric warns.

The sinking feeling in Fenris' heart makes him sigh out loud. "Yes, I know." He hurries out of the tavern and makes his way over to the Hawke estate.

* * *

The house is full of voices. Bodahn leads him towards the staircase and Fenris tries to understand what had happened in this house. There are elves everywhere, the whole lower floor seems to have been converted into common rooms with tables and chairs for many people. He looks into one room and sees elves huddled over plates of food, talking to each other.

The elves that see him suddenly fall quiet and then start to urgently whisper to others. They keep repeating two dalish words, "Falon Hara", and he begins to recognize them. These are elves that he has freed from slavers in the lands around Kirkwall. Why are they here?

Bodahn shows him upstairs. The doors are open and he can see beds, it looks like the upper rooms have been converted into dorms. Only one room has a closed door and that's where Bodahn is knocking now. "Serah Hawke, Messere Fenris is here to speak to you."

There is no answer. Bodahn knocks again and now Hawke opens the door.

"Thank you Bodahn, that will be all."

She steps to the side to let Fenris in and closes the door behind him. 

The room doesn't look any different than it did almost a year ago when he was in here with her and Isabela. There is a desk at the window with a comfortable chair, two bookshelves on the wall next to it and a fireplace on the other side of the room. In the middle of the longer wall is the giant bed that should invoke pleasant memories but now just looks menacing.

Hawke still stands at the door and Fenris stands lost in the middle of the room, trapped between her and the giant bed. Her face is hard again but he can see how hurt she is and that is even worse. How could he have been so careless?

"What happened here, in this house I mean?" he asks because he just can't say what he wants to say. 

Hawke offers him the chair at the desk to sit on and sits down on the bed, facing him. He can't look her in the eyes, he can't bear what he sees in there and he is grateful when she turns her face to the side.

"This is a school, mostly," she says, looking at the door as if she's picturing the rest of the house in her mind. "Some of them live here, some live... elsewhere, but they come here every day to learn and eat. These are your slaves by the way." She looks up to him but looks away when their eyes meet. "Not yours as in you own them, but the ones you freed. They were lost, they didn't know how to live as free people, they were helpless, ready to be caught by the next slavers. The guards at the gate know to send them here. "

Fenris lets out a breath. "How did you know that I freed them?"

"Because they talked about you. They call you 'Falon Hara', Friend to fear. And they described you. An elf with glowing lines? That was pretty easy to figure out. At least then I knew that..." she stops and looks down on her hands.

Fenris slides down from the chair to kneel on the floor. He bows his head. "I want to apologize."

"Get up, Fenris," Hawke rasps. 

He looks up and sees a tear run down her cheek. 

"You're not a slave, you don't have to kneel to apologize." She takes his arm and pulls him up. "You offer your hand and look me in the eyes and say that you're sorry." She looks at him with a frown. The tear still glistens on her cheek. "And you better mean it."

He gets up and hold out his hand. She doesn't take it until he raises his head and looks her in the eyes. Her grip is firm and warm.

"I apologize," he says. "I'm sorry that I left, I apologize for causing you..." he pauses, frantically navigating this new situation, "and our friends sorrows. I should have told you why I left."

"Yes," Hawke says, still holding his hand in her firm grip. "Why did you?"

"What?" He stares up to her, he never realized how tall and strong she is. 

"Why did you leave? And just after we... and Isabela..." She lets go of his hand and sits down on the bed. Fenris sits back down on the chair, folding his hands in his lap. 

"I accept your apology but I need..." she looks up to the ceiling with a fake sounding laugh, "I wish you could explain what happened. You said you wouldn't leave and then you did."

"I didn't mean to. I saw some slavers with children at the docks and I followed and freed them and brought them here."

"I know," Hawke interrupts and for the first time a real smile plays on her lips, "Serlia still talks about it, how Falon Hara appeared out of of the shadows like a glowing spirit and killed the evil men. She is quite the story teller, she reads the small children the bedtime stories now but most of the time they want her to tell the story of Falon Hara." She really smiles now and it seems to light up the room. "You're quite famous among the children here." Her smile slowly fades as she looks at him.

"I meant to come back but hunting the slavers felt like something I had to do for myself," he says, realizing it as he says it.

"But it was just after you watched us, me and Isabela, and I wondered..." she lets the unspoken question hang in the air, her hands holding each other.

He wants to push the thoughts away, doesn't want to think about it, but she deserves the truth. "It raised memories of Danarius, of what he did when I – when I still was his. Watching you with Isabela, seeing how you cared for each other – it was so different to what I knew and I needed time, time to realize what was right." 

Hawke gets up and for a moment he thinks that she comes over to him and his heart begins to flutter but she walks to the window and looks out. "I'm trying to understand you and I'm glad that you're back but..." she stops and looks out of the window as if the setting sun could give her an answer. She turns and glances down to him. "You've been gone for almost a year and a lot has changed."

Of course, how could he assume that she would still be here, unbound and waiting for him? He bows his head and gets up. "I would not assume that everything is the same and I won't be in your way."

"That's not what I –" she puts a hand on his arm but pulls away. "I'm sorry, your lines, I didn't mean to hurt you."

He takes her hand and with a boldness that surprises himself, he puts her hand back on his arm. "The brands are better now, they don't hurt much anymore."

"Anders could help you?"

Fenris nods.

"He never said a word about it, you know, never said that you were there or what he helped you with. Merrill told me. She was quite worried about you."

He feels guilt creeping up his back. He has never been nice to Merrill, barely tolerated her and he is still suspicious of her bloodmage abilities. But she is also apparently a friend and he doesn't quite know how these things go together.

Hawke looks at her hand on his arm as she speaks, "I meant to say that we might have to start over. I was hurt, I felt betrayed and I was angry... I still am. I may need some time to overcome all that." She pulls her hand away and puts it behind her back.

Fenris can't help the sinking feeling in his stomach. He isn't sure what he imagined to happen but it was not this, this distrust in her eyes. "I understand," he says but he really doesn't. So much is still new to him. How she looks at him now, with love and reluctance at the same time – he just doesn't know what it means.

Her face turns softer. "We're still friends, Fenris, that hasn't changed. We just need to get to know each other again." She bites her lips and the desire to kiss her crushes him. He had not realized how much he had missed her. 

"I should go now," he says and turns to the door.

"Where do you want to go?"

"The mansion."

Hawke scratches her head. "There may be a complication with that."

He stops and turns back to her. "How do you mean?"

She looks embarrassed now. "Your mansion – "

" – it's not _my_ mansion."

"That was kind of the problem with it. You were not the owner and neither was Danarius as it turned out. It fell to the city when the original owner was found to be dead. Aveline did her best to not draw attention to the building, but such a piece of prime real estate in the middle of Kirkwall, with the refugee crisis going on?" She shrugs. "The city wanted to sell it and Aveline made sure that I got in first and – " she looks at him and gives him a crooked grin, " – I bought it."

Fenris stares at her for several seconds. "I can't go back there?" He realizes now how much he had assumed about his return to Kirkwall. About Hawke and about his life here. He may have insisted that it was never his mansion but it had been his home nevertheless. 

"Oh you can," she hurries to assure him, "I cleaned the house, had the roof fixed and filled it with former slaves and refugees. Your room is still there, I didn't let anybody move into it. But, I guess you have roommates now?" She looks at him as if she expects him to explode.

He has no home. Taking up residence in Danarius' house had felt justified, he had paid dearly for it with what had been his life before. But now it was Hawke's house. "I do not wish to be depended on your graciousness. It's your house, I have no right to – "

"You could pay rent for a room?" Hawke interrupts. "We have an arrangement that newcomers live in dorms and are expected to work around the houses. When they have found work, they can rent a room and have some more privacy."

Fenris mentally calculates how much money he has left after almost a year of hardly earning anything. 

Hawke watches him as he fidgets. There is some expression on her face that he can't read. "I assumed... I hope you are still part of my team?" she says. "You would still earn your share and should be able to afford a room." 

Fenris breathes out in relief. It had not even crossed his mind to wonder if Hawke would take him back on her team. So much he had just assumed. He looks up and says, "I would like to pay for my room, I'm sure I can live with roommates."

"Excellent," Hawke says with a relieved smile, "let's go then, I'll come with you to introduce you."

He follows her out, walking in a daze, his eyes on her feet. Out in the hallway, she calls a young elf over and whispers something to him and the boy dashes off as if his feet were on fire.

Fenris follows Hawke down the stairs and through the great hall but stops when he looks into one of the rooms. He sees elves of various ages sit around a table with books, paper and quills. Orana, the young elf woman they had freed so long ago, seems to be teaching these elves letters and pronunciations. 

Hawke comes to his side. "Orana learned reading and writing quickly and now she teaches the others when I don't have time. She is a great, she organizes everything around here. I have given her former job of housekeeping to one of the newcomers because I could not do any of this without her." 

Orana leans over the writings of a young elf and corrects how he holds the quill. Next to her, a girl reads words from a page and Orana corrects her pronunciation with friendly but firm words. Several children are drawing letters with colors and brushes on big pieces of wood. There is a happy air of concentration in the room. 

Fenris takes a deep breath. "Would you and her accept another student?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then I would wish to learn to read and write in your school," he says and just saying it feels as if he made a step into a new life.

Marian nods and her eyes glisten when she smiles at him. "Tomorrow morning then, after the second bell. I will have someone wake you on time."

They walk to his – no _her_ – mansion in silence side by side. But it's not the silence they used to have, where they were comfortable in their own thoughts. He can feel that Hawke wants to say something, ask him questions and he fears having to think of the answers.

After endless minutes Hawke stops in front of a grand door and it takes Fenris a moment to recognize the mansion. Fresh yellow paint and new windows make it look like a completely new building and someone has taken care to decorate the entrance with pots of hardy greenery. What looked like flowers at first, turns out to be colorful ribbons tied into the shrubs.

The door opens without creaking after Hawke has knocked and someone has checked on them through a small window in the door. The elven girl looks Fenris over and then gives Hawke a hug that she returns awkwardly as she lowers herself down on one knee. 

"Hello Jennil, how do you feel today?" asks Hawke. 

"Much better, the healer has given me a potion to take every morning. It's very yucky." The girl keeps glancing at Fenris but smiles at Hawke with open familiarity. Hawke gives her her whole attention. She almost looks like a mother.

Hawke gestures towards Fenris. "This is my friend Fenris, he will move into the room upstairs."

Jennil now looks at him directly, her eyes go over the lyrium brands on his arms. "Falon Hara," she whispers and her eyes widen in awe.

Hawke shakes her head with a smile, "No, his name is Fenris." She looks up to him but looks away when he catches her eye. "Did Marenil prepare the room?"

Jennil nods, "Yes, he put new sheets on the bed and started the fire."

"Good, I'll show Fenris to his room now, could you cut off some bread and cheese for him in the kitchen?" 

The girl nods and dashes off. Hawke gets up from her bent knee and gestures to Fenris to follow her. They step through the door and Fenris stops with his mouth open. 

The main hall looks bright and beautiful. It is lit with candles and filled with tables and chairs. A few elves and two human women sit around and eat, play cards or read. The corpses have been removed as well as the mushrooms. The floors and walls have been cleaned and the pictures of grim looking nobles are gone. Someone seems to have started to paint a murial on the empty walls.

"It looks nice, doesn't it?" Hawke says next to him.

Fenris can only nod. 

Hawke walks up the stairs and Fenris hurries to follow her to his room. The door creaks a little and the air inside smells a bit stale. Hawke lets him pass and lingers at the door, her eyes scanning the room. The fire is already warming up the room and the bed looks luxurious with its soft cover and the white linens. There is a trunk at the side with a lock and an empty closet at the wall. A chair, a small table and a carpet have been placed in front of the fireplace.

"I hope everything is alright," Hawke says quietly, her hand still holding the door open. "I haven't been in here... in a while."

"It's good," Fenris says and he wishes she would come in and stay. 

"I'll leave you then," Hawke says, a pained expression in her face. "Would you like to have breakfast tomorrow morning with me and Aveline, Merrill, Varric and Anders?"

Fenris can't help but flinch at the mentioning of the two mages but he nods. "Yes, I would like that."

"Good, I have Marenil wake you earlier then. See you tomorrow," she says and turns to go.

"Will Isabela also be there?" Fenris asks, having realized that she seems to be missing from the group. 

Hawke stills for a moment, her shoulders hunching forward before she straightens again. "Isabela has left," she says without looking back and pulls the door close behind her.

* * *


	7. Lingering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter today, some would call it filler, I call it mood setting.

* * *

Fenris arrives at the Amell estate early and lingers in the main hall next to the fireplace. The dog that Hawke affectionately calls Brother Stink, sits at his side and watches him. The elves he can see are all busy with clearing a table in the middle of the hall and setting it anew. Bread and soft rolls are placed in baskets on the table and a carafe with milk. He smiles as he remembers how Isabela had called Hawke 'so Ferelden' for drinking milk.

He wonders again where Isabela is and when Varric comes into the hall, he pulls him aside to talk to him. "Where is Isabela? What happened?" he asks the dwarf in a quiet corner of the room.

Varric snorts. "Well, Hawke sure knows how to pick 'em, first you left and then Isabela left and –" he stops and sighs. "I shouldn't have said that." He gestures Fenris to follow him into a small room filled with crates off to the side. "Listen Broody, it's not your fault. Isabela leaving had nothing to do with you. In case you haven't heard, the Qunari are getting restless, the Arishok demands a certain relic to get returned to him and guess who has it."

"Isabela has the relic?"

Varric nods with a sigh of deep chested annoyance. "A qunari book written by Ashkaari Koslun. I don't know how Isabela got her hands on it originally but we even helped her to get it back and then she took off with it."

"Ashkaari Koslun was the founder of the Qun," Fenris says, remembering what his friend the Tal-Vasoth Honour had told him. "No wonder the qunari can't leave. The Arishok has to bring this book back home."

Varric nods, "Hawke tried to reason with Isabela, promised her to make it up to her, promised her a ship but the stupid..." he snarls out a curse in a language Fenris doesn't know. "I guess she's just a pirate at heart. She took off with the book and left Hawke a note, something about how she just isn't that kind of soul to return the book that had cost her so much." He sighs and looks past Fenris into the hall where Hawke and Aveline have arrived. He lowers his voice. "First you disappeared and then Isabela did this – it was not a good time."

Fenris looks over to Hawke. She chats with Aveline and sets out plates on the table. She seems to be happy but something in the way she holds her shoulders looks off.

Varric gives him a nudge and they go back into the hall just as Anders enters with Merrill. Anders takes off his feathered coat and Fenris is shocked how thin he is. He looks as if he has starved himself since the last time he saw him and the dark circles under his eyes speak of too little sleep.

"I can't stay long, there is a kind of flu going around in the city," Anders says as he grabs a roll from a basket, "I have to go back to the clinic."

"Sit down," Hawke says and gently presses him down on a chair. "Have some fruit and honey and for the love of Andraste's knickers eat something. You can't help anybody if you faint from lack of food." She looks him over and frowns. "You look like you didn't sleep either."

"Justice keeps me up sometimes," Anders admits between bites.

Fenris sits down at the other end of the table, as far away as possible from the possessed mage. As grateful as he is for the help that Anders has provided, he still can't trust him. He is possessed by a demon, his thoughts and wants may not even be his own. How Hawke can trust him so much is beyond his understanding. He watches her, how she makes sure that the abomination eats, how she puts honey on his bread and hands him tea.

"What are you staring at?" Varric mumbles as he sits down next to him.

"She is too trusting with him," Fenris says quietly.

"And you're not jealous," Varric says, looking over the rim of his mug at him.

"I'm not."

"Sure, Broody, whatever you say," Varric says with a chuckle. "But you might want to stop staring at him as if you wish to put your fist into his chest. You know, like you love to do with people you _like_."

Fenris quickly looks away. Is it jealousy that causes the tight pain in his chest when he looks at her? When he sees her smile at something Anders or Aveline say, smile like she used to smile for him? She hasn't even looked at him yet.

"Good morning Fenris," Hawke says and hands him a mug with some hot brew. She has a smile on her lips but it isn't strong enough to chase the sadness from her eyes. She looks as if she wants to say something but a shadow falls like a curtain over her face and she turns away.

Fenris warms his hands on the mug and carefully sniffs at its contents. The scent is rich and bitter and he remembers having smelled it in Tevinter. He takes a breath that doesn't fill his lungs.

_A memory, just a memory. Stop chasing memories._

Merrill sits down on the other side of the table from him and hands him the cheese plate. "That's coffee from Antiva, is it? Hawke made me try it a few days ago, it's terrible! I can't believe anybody would drink that," she says and pours hot water over some purple, dried leaves in her cup. The smell is pleasantly fruity and he takes it in as a new memory.

The coffee tastes excellent, better than he remembers.

Merrill keeps chatting away and Fenris listens to the people around the table. A lot has happened that he wasn't quite aware of. Anders and Hawke are telling Aveline of a conspiracy they uncovered, something about a templar that wanted to make all mages tranquil. Fenris pictures it in his mind, mages under control, without power. What he would have given for a solution like that back in Tevinter.

But the more he imagines it, the less appealing the idea becomes. The magisters of Tevinter are horrible, cruel players of power but someone like Merrill? Or Bethany? What about the elven slaves with magical powers that were never allowed to become magisters in Tevinter? They had never done him any wrong, even took him in and helped him when he had fallen out of favour from his master.

They also talk about a young girl, her mage powers just showing and apparently Anders almost killed her. Fenris watches his face as he apologizes, probably not for the first time, that he had lost control. His demon or spirit or whatever it was took over and saw the girl as a threat. Anders blames himself and Fenris watches with a painful stab in his heart how Hawke comforts him. They have gotten close while he was gone, he can see it in the way she touches his arm and how she makes sure that he eats.

He should have expected it. He left her and of course she would not still be here, waiting for him to make up his mind after a year. Hawke is a remarkabale person, more than he could ever deserve and she could have anybody she wants. He is only annoyed that she picked the abonimation to give her love to. Even Varric would have been a more sensible choice.

The conversation shifts to the problem with the qunari presence in the city and what could be done about it. Everyone seems to expect Hawke to fix the problem.

"I get so tired of hearing all these politics," Merrill suddenly whispers to him. "Tell me something from your travels, you must have had so many great adventures."

He is kind of grateful for the distraction, he doesn't want to watch Hawke caring for Anders anymore. "I doubt they saw it as great adventures, I just met many people that needed help." He shrugs but Merril keeps looking at him as if he tells her the most fascinating tale.

"Were they all elves?"

"Most of them, yes. Not many humans find themselves as slaves and even less seem to want to escape."

Merrill seems to contemplate that in a rare moment of silent thought. "What about dwarves?" she finally asks with shining eyes.

Fenris can't help but smile at her excited expression. "I haven't met any dwarves, but I met a Tal-Vasoth qunari. He wasn't a slave though."

Merrill nodded. "Yes, I can't imagine a qunari being a slave, strong as they are. But the qun is so strict, it almost seems to be like a kind of slavery of its own."

She picks a leave from her cup while Fenris looks at her in surprise. It occurs to him that Merrill is much more attentive than he thought. "Have you met qunari?"

"Oh yes, Hawke took me with her sometimes when she spoke to the Arishok and there is a Tal-Vasoth who visits the Alienage sometimes. She helps with moving heavy boxes and things like that."

"A female? And a Tal-Vasoth at that?"

"They are rare, aren't they?" Merrill says. "I asked her what her name is but she said she hasn't picked one because she doesn't know who she is going to be. Her qunari name meant something like child bearer. But she didn't get pregnant or maybe she didn't want to."

"I met a Tal-Vasoth in the Planasene Forrest," Fenris says. "When he left, I offered him a name. I don't know if he took it but he seemed to appricate it. You could try that with her."

Merrill shakes her head. "No, not me, but I'll tell Lernygell, she can talk to her."

"Why not you?"

Merrill looks at him with a soft smile. "I'm a mage, remember? The qunari don't like mages." She softly shakes her head. "They must be very afraid of mages."

Fenris fights with his instincts as he watches her. She is tiny, gentle and she never lets the world steal her sense of wonder. How could anybody be afraid of her? But she is a bloodmage, a sorceress of violence dominating the very essence of life, taunting dark demons from the fade with her powers. She could control everyone in this room with a spell and a twist of her hands. And they wouldn't even be aware of it.

 _Merrill would never do that._ _But she could. You can not trust her. She's a bloodmage._

He looks down on his hands, the napkin in his hands is twisted into a rope and he breathes in to silence his mind. Something makes him look to the side and he catches Hawke watching him. She blushes a little and casts her eyes down. It looks very unusual on her and painfully adorable.

She smiles a little, probably aware of her unusual behaviour. Her blush, her smile and how she shakes it all off and turns to Aveline, away from him – it makes his heart ache.

By the time the breakfast has ended, he can hardly bear looking at her anymore. Aveline excuses herself because she has to get back to the city guard and Fenris hurries to follow her out.

"Will you manage?" Aveline asks him when they step into the light outside.

Fenris looks back towards the closing door and catches a glimpse of Hawke. She doesn't smile.

"It is what it is," he says and he isn't quite sure what he means by that.

"It's good that you are back," Aveline says, "I look forward to fighting along your side again." She nods towards him in greeting and swiftly walks away. A guard pushes away from a wall and falls into step with her. He recognizes guardsman Donnic. They smile at each other.

Fenris painfully misses this kind of smile between Hawke and him. It felt like they used to have this smile between each other but maybe he had just imagined it.

* * *

Normalcy has entered his life, normalcy and routine. Every few days, Hawke takes him along for a job in the afternoon or at night and usually the whole group ends up at the Hanged Man for a game of cards and drinks. Fenris avoids the wine and ale and has taken a liking to Merrill's tea. It's not that he doesn't like wine anymore but he feels like he drank it because he needed it to forget his pain and his thoughts. It had become a crutch and he doesn't need the crutch anymore.

He goes to Hawke's school in the morning, where she or Orana teach him along with ten older elves and four children how to read and write. There has been such a demand for the reading classes that they had to set up two classes at different times in the morning. He takes the later class and sometimes he joins the other students for breakfast at the main house. He would not call them friends yet but he has come to care for them.

The newest addition to the teachers is a former slave called Irnan who had worked for a merchant and knew how to calculate with numbers. He takes his new position as teacher for math very seriously, and has already moved far beyond simple sums and multiplications to science and astronomy. Fenris loves these lessons and he loves the books they get to read for this class. They are difficult to decipher and it takes him a long time to get through a page but at least they are more interesting than the books Varric makes them read for his lessons in poetic writing.

Sometimes Hawke visits him in the mansion, sitting with him by the fire in his room, drinking Antivan coffee. She helps him read the pages of the astronomy book that he so stubbornly wants to understand. They still can not just sit and talk like they used to but he loves reading with her. It is at least something, a little slice of time just for them. He would not dare to ask for more.

He cherishes the routine and any disturbance of it worries him. When Hawke doesn't join them at the Hanged Man after one successful but bloddy hunt for bandits at the Wounded Coast, he worries. He doesn't follow the others to the Hanged Man and instead walks to the Hawke family estate.

Bodhan opens for him and nods as if he has expected him. "The lady is on the roof, Ser, please follow me." The dwarf leads him up the stairs and to a ladder that leans in an opening in the ceiling. "Please be careful, Ser, the steps can be slippery."

He leaves Fenris at the foot of the ladder and walks back down the stairs. Fenris tests the ladder, it seems to be sturdy enough and firmly attached to the opening in the ceiling. He climbs up, wondering why anybody would want to sit on a roof instead of on one of the balkonies that the estate has.

To his surprise he emerges on a flat area on top of the house. There are flowerpots placed along a small wall where the red shingled roof begins to go down in a steep angle. This part of the roof is like a small garden above the city and one look around gives him the answer to his previous question. The view is gorgeous. The setting sun floods the roofs of the city with golden light. He can see the mountains in the distance.

"Over here, Fenris."

Her voice guides him to a a wooden bench, halfway hidden behind tall grass growing in buckets. A faint smell of fire hangs in the air, somewhere near something must be burning. She gestures to him to take a seat next to her.

Fenris sits and waits for her to say something but she just stares into nothing.

"You didn't come with us to the Hanged Man today."

"I didn't feel like it." She pauses and looks at her hand opening and closing. "It's been two years today."

"Two years?"

"When the templars took Bethany. It was two years ago."

"I'm sorry."

Hawke sighs deep from her chest. "I miss her. I miss her so much."

"Have you heard anything from her?"

Hawke lets out an angry snort. "They didn't even let her go to mother's funeral. They're not allowing any contact with family." She looks in the direction of the Gallows. "She's so close and I don't even know if she's alive or dead."

"I'm sorry." He doesn't know what else to say.

Hawke looks at him from the side. "Isn't that what you want? All mages locked up and under control?"

"I never wanted Bethany to get locked up," Fenris says and means it. He doesn't think of Bethany with her kind eyes and her witty remarks when he thinks of terrifying mages.

"There's no picking and choosing with the templars." There is no aggression in her voice, just resignation. A tear is glistening in the corner of her eye that Fenris aches to wipe away but her hand gets to it before his. "You know, if the circle were like a mage school, it would actually be perfect for Bethany. She could be a teacher, she's good at that."

"A mage school?"

Hawke looks at him. "Mages have powers, sometimes terrifying powers, I'm not denying that. But if they had schools where they would learn how to work with their powers and how to control them, wouldn't that help everyone? Bethany is very powerful, Carver was so afraid of her as a child, he wanted to become a templar. But our father taught her how to handle her powers, she is a mage of controlled practice. That's what a mage school should teach."

Fenris has to admit that her reasoning makes sense but he knows what mages can be and a well taught mage can still become a ruthless magister for all he knows. But he will not argue with Hawke when she is hurting so much.

"Who is Carver?" he asks.

A shuddering sigh leaves her. "My little brother, Bethany's twin. He's not with us anymore, he's... I'll tell you some other time."

Fenris nods and stays quiet. Hawke doesn't speak anymore, just stares ahead and sometimes she wipes a tear from her eye. He stays with her, hoping that his presence is helping her and not a burden.

When the sun sets, she takes his hand in hers and squeezes it once. "We should go inside, it's getting cold and we might get attacked by bats soon."

They climb back down into the house and he says his farewells and leaves for his room in the mansion. He is sorry for Hawke and the pain she feels and he doesn't know what to feel about her and how she feels about mages but somehow he is more hopeful than ever that everything will turn out alright now.

When he left, she had smiled at him like she used to do.


	8. Secrecy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Oh, you guys won't even know what hit you. ~evil snicker~_

* * *

"Fenris, behind you!" Hawke calls out. He turns on his heel, letting the Lyrium rush through his markings, activating their magic. His hand phases through the man that tried to attack him with his daggers. The bandit's expression changes from a hateful snarl to a look of surprise as his life leaves him when his internal organs lose their place.

He exchanges a look with Hawke, a thank you on his side, a smile on hers. With a turn she buries her sword in the abdomen of a slaver and takes a step back to let him fall down in front of her. Fenris swings his sword over his head and cleaves into the neck of the last slaver that tries to run past him.

The slaves, theoretically now free elves, are huddled behind a boulder. Three adults sheltering two children with their bodies. Merrill steps over to them, her staff held low and talks to them in dalish. The sing song of her voice calms the elves down and the children even smile at her. Merrill checks them for injuries and heals a cut on an arm with a quick movement, casting a red glow with her hand.

Fenris can feel the hum of her blood magic and he recoils. It makes fear well up in him, fear and memories of magic drawing on blood. His blood or someone else's blood, drawn as sacrifice for experiments. It was supposed to be an honor, to be part of a great magisters magic, to give your blood to his gift. They never used their own blood and sometimes they forgot to stop. Fenris has seen slaves faint and fall and never get up again, their skin ashen gray.

Fenris breathes his fear down. Merrill fights along their sides, she always uses her own blood, never the blood of a sacrificial victim. Her blood magic is not used to enslave. She never wears the self satisfied smile of a magister when she performs her magic. 

He has called her a monster once. Back in the Sundermouth Mountains, when the Dalish boy had run away from her in fear. The blood under her command, the thrum of the powerful magister magic, yes, she was a monster to him back then.

The freed elves get up, following Merrill. The girl she healed holds Merrill's hand and looks up to her with a smile. She leads the elves to Hawke who tells them of her refuge and the school in Kirkwall. She gives them a choice but they readily agree to go with her. 

Merrill has turned from them and kneels in front of a scrubby flower. Fenris walks up to her, memories clawing at his mind and he has to speak to her.

"Is that a special flower, an ingredient?" he asks her when she doesn't seem to notice him.

"No, I think this is just a flower," Merrill says and lifts a small bloom with her finger. "Isn't it pretty?"

The flower looks rather plain to him, it's not even really yellow more like a dirty white. But Merril looks at it with the same kind of amazement she has for every little thing in the world. 

The memory still lingers in his mind. "I wanted to say... I'm sorry I called you a monster."

Merrill looks up to him, kneeling in front of him. "Are you well Fenris? I'm still a blood mage, you remember?"

Fenris sits down on a rock to not look down on her like a master would look down on a slave. It makes him uncomfortable to see her like this. "Yes, I remember. I still think you are toying with things you don't really understand. I also think that blood magic makes you even more vulnerable to demons; but... you're not a monster. I should not have called you that."

Merrill give him a soft smile. "It's no matter Fenris. I've been called worse. And it made me feel wild and dangerous for a bit, that was fun." She whispers something to the flower and gets up.

Fenris can't let this go. "You're still dealing with dangers from the darkest parts of the Fade, and binding yourself to them, don't you see?" he yells at her, harsher than he had intended.

"Everything is dangerous," Merrill says with her soft smile. "But it can be good if you do good. The Dalish have used blood magic, but only for healing. And we still use it like that, to cleanse the blood of illness and poison."

"But..." 

Fenris jumps up and walks away, frustrated at her naivety.

Hawke comes up to him and lays a hand on his gauntlet. She speaks softly, almost pleading. "She's not going to change, you know? She is a mage and no matter how much you yell at her, she will always stay a mage. Merrill uses her magic in good ways and she will not change for you."

"I will never understand..." he mumbles but leaves open what exactly he means.

"Why I defend mages?" Hawke finishes for him, her voice almost inaudible. "No, you probably won't. You won't change either." She turns her face away and after a second she pulls her shoulders back and lifts her chin. When she looks back at him, her face is hard and calm.

It is terrifying. She looks at him like a stranger. In this moment, all their slow progress back to their friendship seems to be gone.

Fenris swallows a whimper as grief for the loss spreads in his chest.

Varric stumbles up to them, awkwardly holding his bow over his shoulder with one hand and holding his side with the other. "You don't happen to have a health potion on you?" he asks between clenched teeth.

"Varric!" Hawke calls out. "What happened?"

Varric unbuckles his armor at the side and shows them the vicious gash across his ribs. "One of them got a bit close with a spear."

"You're supposed to stay away, you know?" Hawke scolds him while she rummages through her bag. She finds a small, red bottle and hands it to him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He looks at the bottle in his hand. "That your last one?"

"I can get new potions in Kirkwall, now drink it up." She carefully checks his side as he swallows down the softly glowing liquid. The effect is immediate: the bleeding stops and Varric visibly relaxes as the potion reduces the pain.

"Anders should take a look at that later," Hawke says. She bandages the dwarf’s wound and Varric fastens up his armor again.

"Why isn't our healer here anyway?"

Hawke sighs. "Anders needed a break. Justice is running him to the ground."

"Is this about his freedom for the mages manifest?"

Hawke nods. "Among other things. I had a talk with Justice, told him that he needs to let Anders be Anders. That Anders is a person with his own needs. For the sake of all that's holy, the man needs sleep and food and maybe even sex!"

"Hold on," Varric says and pulls out a tattered notebook and a tiny quill and ink set from his bag. "I need to write this down, you gave a stern talking to the spirit of Justice?"

Hawke raises her chin. "Yes! Anders is on the brink of losing his mind and dying from exhaustion if this continues. I'll have a talk with the Maker himself it it would help him!" 

Her brows are furrowed and her hand is tightening around the hilt of her sword. Fenris has no doubt that she means what she says.

_She's so protective of him because she loves him._

The pain in his chest is now jealousy and not heartbreak, and he welcomes it.

"What did you do, tie him to his bed until he sleeps?" Varric asks, his quill ready.

"No, I made an agreement with Justice that he would retreat for at least half a day and once Anders is well rested, they will talk about how and when Justice is allowed to take over. And I will make sure that Anders gets enough sleep and food. For now he is in a room at the estate and I got Jethann to take care of him."

Varric snorts. "You got him Jethann from the Blooming Rose?" He furiously scribbles down notes on the paper and turns it over to write on the backside.

"Jethann happens to give excellent massages and if Anders also wants to have sex with him that is perfectly fine." She shrugs. "Anders needs to be normal for a while and if that involves sex to get his mind off everything, I'm sure Jethann will be happy to provide."

Fenris studies her face and wonders if he misunderstood the relationship between Anders and her. He know she cares for him but would she be so unfazed by him having sex with Jethann if she actually loved him?

Merrill calls them over. "They say that the slavers have a storage in a cave not far from here." The elves nod and say that they saw them carry boxes and bags inside.

A grin spreads on Hawke's face. "You mean we could actually get some loot in addition to freeing them?"

Varric is already packing his things and shouldering his bow. "I could sure use some coin, the last tours you took me on hardly covered the expenses."

"I know, I'm sorry," Hawke says, adjusting her sword on her back. "Those were some poor bandits, I felt like I should give them something to eat for running away."

The elves lead them up the coast to a cave hidden behind some dying branches and a tipped over cart. Hawke pulls the branches to the side and peeks into the darkness of the cage.

"Not exactly well hidden, this cave," she says. "Merrill, you wait here with the elves; call us if anyone comes. Varric, Fenris, let's see what we'll find."

The cave is more like a tunnel with a low ceiling. Fenris can see its shape with his lyrium enhanced vision but Hawke bumps her helmet a few times. Varric has no trouble walking under the ceiling and he smiles smugly because of it.

The tunnel leads them to a wider room: it is still very low but is now wide enough they can stand side by side. Fenris sees something shine in the walls, there must be traces of lyrium in the stone. He takes a step forward to look at it and –

_Click!_

His mind registers the sound and calmly informs him that he has sprung a trap but his body is too slow to react. There is a whacking sound coming from the wall opposite him and then something hits him in the chest and his arms. He ducks down but it's too late. Something whacks him in his shoulder and explodes in pain. 

Hawke cries out, "Fenris!" and catches him as the world tilts and he sways to the side. Something - an arrow, he realises - flies towards her but ricochets off her armor.

He looks down at his own chest. Four thick arrows with black fletching stick in the leather at the sides and a few arrows seemed to have made dents in his breastplate but fell off. There are cuts on his arms from at least two arrows that scraped him and one is still embedded in his shoulder.

"Ah, shit," Varric grunts next to him, getting up from the ground and wipes dirt from his knees. He seems to be uninjured and has had the presence of mind to throw himself to the ground when the arrows started flying. "How is everybody?"

"I'm fine," Hawke says and helps Fenris to stand up. "How are you feeling?" she asks him.

Her hands are hot on his skin and her eyes, staring at him, seem to be bigger than ever. "I'm alrr..." he tries to speak but the words slur. His knees give out under him and Hawke catches him a second time. A biting pain crawls under his skin, his body twitching and locking up in cramps. The wounds on his arms are still bleeding and his own blood sears like burning acid through his veins. 

"Fenris? Fenris!" she shouts, her voice shrill as she holds his rigid body tight.

Varric picks up one of the arrows and looks at the tip. "Hawke!" he holds an arrow up in a slip of light that falls into the cave from outside. "Poison."

Hawke only hesitates for a moment and grabs the arrow still stuck in his shoulder. She looks him in the eyes, and yanks it out. 

Fenris cries out. Pain erupts along his side and his blood flows over Hawke's leg and pools on the ground.

"We need Anders," Hawke says, her voice tight and wet.

Varric shakes his head. "He doesn't have that much time," he says and holds his arm up into the light. The world is swimming in front of Fenris' eyes, but he can still see dark purple lines on his arm, spreading out in tendrils from his wounds.

"Let's get him to Merrill,” Hawke said. “She can help." Hawke gathers him up in her arms as if he is a sleeping child and turns towards the exit.

Fenris shakes violently. The noise in his ears gets louder. He fights to speak, to form the words. "Not blood magic," he chokes.

"Not many choices, love," Hawke murmurs under her breath. She starts running, his body pressed to her. She manages several steps before a loud crack makes her stop. She freezes midstep. Dust falls from the low ceiling like snow. She turns and runs back into the cave. “Varric! Turn back! Run!” she yells.

Fenris shakes in her arms, his muscles rigid in painful cramps. The noise is deafening loud and he doesn't know if it is real or in his poisoned mind.

When the noise of crashing rocks stops, it is dark. For a moment Fenris thinks that he has gone blind but when the dust has settled he can still make out the faint lines of lyrium in the walls of the cave. The entrance to the cave has collapsed. They are trapped.

His teeth chatter but his skin burns. Snakes of fire erupt from his arms, biting through his skin, ripping it apart in crackling flames. They tear free but they also crawl deeper into his torso, biting into his heart, tightening around it. Searing pain wraps around his throat, twisting around his windpipe and squeezing hard. He gasps for air but the air burns and is not enough, not enough.

A small flame comes to light, a candle stump. His sight is blurry but he can still see Hawke and Varric looking down on him. He fights to breathe but there is no air, no space in his lungs, no room for anything but pain.

"Do we have a potion?" Hawke's voice is flat and frantic and he can hear her rummaging through her bag.

"Hawke." Varric's voice is calm and how he says her name sounds almost like an order.

"We have to find a way out of here, to Merrill," Hawke whispers, her voice so small.

"Hawke!" Varric shouts and this time it really sounds like an order. "Now is not the time, he has minutes at the most, you can't wait."

She pauses briefly, her hand softly stroking his cheek. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Fenris," she sobs and he doesn't understand why.

She lets her hands hover over his arms, over the wounds and her hands seem to glow. His lyrium flares and glows and a comforting warmth spreads in his body. His blood is rushing, it flows and twirls and takes in new life. The rushing in his ears quiets down and his vision clears.

And so does his mind.

Hawke is using magic on his wounds. He can see the blood bubble up towards the golden light emitting from her hands. Unnatural bubbles, separating in clean blood and dark poison. The poisoned drops fall to the floor, his blood floats back into his body, clean and warm. 

Fenris still lies frozen, unable to comprehend what he sees.

_Hawke is a warrior! She fights with a sword._

But her hands glow in golden light and his lyrium strains towards her magic. He can feel her magic; he can smell it; he can see it. _Magic_. He scrambles to get away from it -- from her.

Varric grabs his shoulders and holds him down. "Sorry, my friend, this is your only chance. I promise she won't hurt you."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Hawke whispers and it still sounds like she cries. "Almost done. Please let me help you. Please." 

Her hands move over his wounds, making the blood clot. It's not quite as effective as Anders' healing but he is not losing blood anymore and the poison is mostly gone. "This is all I can do. I'm not a healer," Hawke says quietly. The light from her hands disappears and leaves only the candle stump on the floor giving off a little light. 

Fenris can't see her eyes but he sees her hand raising towards his face and he flinches away from it.

_Mage!_

"Sorry," she says and turns away.

Varric takes the candle and looks around the cave, plunging Hawke and Fenris into merciful darkness. He builds a pile of debris in the middle of the cave and calls Hawke over to him.

"Set it on fire, so that we have some light here," he says.

"Varric, I can't..."

"It's a bit late for secrecy now, don't you think?"

Hawke sighs and holds out her hand, palm up. A flame flickers up in her palm, bright yellow with a green core. She holds the flame against a piece of wood and waits for it to catch fire.

The fire slowly grows and gives off golden light. The rushing in Fenris' ears gets louder but this time not because of the poison. He watches her; his Hawke. She looks just like she always did; but now she can conjure flames on the palms of her hands.

 _Mage._ The world has lost all sound. All he hears in his mind is that one word: _Mage_.

Hawke doesn't look at him. He sits up, trying to see her face, to catch her eyes. He wants to see her eyes, he wants to see if they still look the same. But she avoids his gaze and that feels even more like betrayal.

She is exploring the cave and the tunnels that lead away from it, the flame on her palm casting dancing shadows on the walls. Off to the side is a small tunnel. She holds the magical flame into it, and it begins to dance violently. "There is fresh air coming from here, there could be an opening to the outside in here," she says to Varric. She removes her pack and her sword and crawls through the opening. It is barely big enough for her. 

Varric kneels down in front of the opening and listens to the noises of her moving with his head laid to the side.

Fenris gets up on his knees and stands, using his sword as a crutch. He stumbles over to Varric and the tunnel and falls to his knees next to Hawke's sword. He places his own next to it. They are the same size -- they even look like they have been made by the same swordsmith. She fights the same way he does -- Varric used to say how they sometimes looked like they were dancing in sync. How could she fight like this and be a mage at the same time?

Varric calls into the tunnel, "Hawke, have you found anything?"

Fenris can hear her answer but he doesn't really listen.

"You spoke to Daisy?" Varric yells into the tunnel. He is already taking off his pack and bow and tying them together with a leather belt. He looks over his shoulder to Fenris. "You feeling good enough to crawl through here?"

Fenris nods but doesn't move.

Varric takes Hawke's sword from him and ties her pack to it. "Go through and I'll push the stuff towards you."

Fenris moves then, slowly. His joints ache and his skin is still sensitive but he moves, crawling on his stomach, skidding and scraping through the narrow passage. He doesn't notice the scratches and cuts. He just moves, pulling his sword behind him.

The passage opens suddenly and he tumbles down into a shallow pool of water. He hears Varric swear behind him as he loses his hold and also falls into the water, almost impaling himself on Hawke's sword.

"That would have gone down as the most embarrassing way to die," Varric huffs and gets up. "Second only to getting stuck in that damn hole. I almost didn't fit through." He gently checks his arms that are full of fresh cuts and scrapes from his way through the passage.

There is light in this cavern from a hole in the ceiling. Hawke is standing under it, looking like a goddess bathed in Andraste's light. The light illuminates her face. For a second it looks like she is marked with a vallaslin, but Fenris realizes that it's just a pattern of streaks on her dirtied face.

The hole is too far up to reach it but she keeps looking up. Fenris squints against the light and can make out Merrill's face looking over the edge.

"We found a rope, we can get you out," she calls down to them. "Careful, Hawke." A rope gets lowered down and Hawke ties a loop in the end for Varric to place his foot in. She hangs their packs over him and only keeps the swords. 

Slowly, pull after pull, Varric moves up and through the opening. Dust falls down when he grabs purchase on the edge and pulls himself up. They can hear him mutter when only his boots still hang over the edge: "Andraste's arse, I hate the underground."

Hawke grabs the rope and holds the loop open for Fenris. "Now you," she says. 

She doesn't look at him; Fenris doesn’t look at her. He keeps his gaze focused on the light above him. Only when his jerky ascent is almost at the end does he dare to look down towards her. 

The light still shines on her face and he can see a tear making a new streak on her cheek. For a second the mask is gone and he sees grief and hurt on her wonderful face. It feels like a physical punch in his gut and it even blocks out the lingering pain in his poisoned body.

Varric grabs his hand and pulls him over the edge. The freed elves and Merrill have put the rope around a tree and dig their heels into the ground as they pull together at the rope. Merrill occasionally sends a grease spell to the rope as it slips around the tree. They pull and grab forward on the rope again and again until finally Hawke's dark hair appears over the edge. Varric grabs her hand and pulls her out and the elves collapse where they stand.

For a while everyone just breathes. Merrill gets up first and checks the elves’ hands for burns, applying salve from her pack to them as needed. Hawke gets up and reattaches her pack and her sword to her armor and walks up the hill, out of sight. 

Fenris reaches for his things but exhaustion catches up with him. He doubles over as a remnant of the poison’s cramps runs through him. The breathing exercises that used to help him through the pain of his markings now clear his mind and make the pain slowly disappear. 

Varric comes over to Fenris and hands him a bottle of water. He sits down next to him. "How are you feeling?"

Fenris takes another deep breath, taking in the fresh, slightly salty air. "I'm alright."

Varric waits for Fenris to drink from the bottle before he speaks again. "That was quite the shock, wasn't it?"

"How long have you known it?" he asked. How long have they kept him in the dark, pretending Hawke was just a warrior?

Varric shrugs. "I think she told me sometime in the Deep Roads. All that raw lyrium made her feel strange."

"Who else knows?"

"Well," Varric sighs, "mages can sense mages so Anders and Merrill know."

_They all knew!_

Varric gives him a long look. "I was surprised that you didn't sense it with all that lyrium in your brands."

Fenris wonders about that too. All this time when he had yearned for her, her touch, had it just been his lyrium reaching for her magic? How can he be sure what he feels for her is real?

"What about the templars?" he calls out with a start. 

"It's got something to do with her armor, it's specifically enchanted so the templars can't sense her magic. But you should probably ask her yourself about that."

"No." His voice sounds hollow to himself.

"No?" Varric raises his eyebrows. "I get that this all a bit much right now but are you not going to talk to her anymore?"

"I don't know," Fenris says, "she's a mage and..." 

_And she never told me, she never trusted me._

Varric shakes his head. "Oh broody," he says, and gets up. 

He walks over to Merrill. They look at him as they talk and Merrill begins to smile but the smile drops from her face when she sees his scowl.

Hawke comes back over the rise behind him and climbs down to where he is sitting. Fenris scrambles to get up from the ground. He doesn't want her to get too close to him; he can't think when she is close to him. She is so familiar and so foreign at the same time, and....

Hawke stands still, her palms down at her sides. "I'm sorry," she says.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks. It sounds like an accusation. 

_Maybe it is._

"Tell you?" She laughs out bitterly. "You hate mages, Fenris. Maybe it was a stupid little dream but I liked it when you didn't hate me."

Every moment they had spent together comes back to him. Her soft touch when his marks burned, her laughter when she fed him cheese and apples. How she never did anything without asking him first. How she cared. "I would not have..."

There is a sudden anger in her eyes when she interrupts him. "What? You would not have hated me? Are you sure?" She glares at him. "You don't get to say that, you don't get to say that you hate all mages except me. You either hate us all like you hate Anders or nobody! You don't get to make an exception for me." She turns and walks away. 

The walk back to Kirkwall is silent -- not even Merrill says a word. Hawke walks in front, her feet stomping the ground as if she is trying to punish it. The rest of the group has trouble keeping up with her. 

Fenris has fallen behind, not because he can't keep up but to be alone. He hardly notices that they pass the city gate. His feet find the way home without him thinking about it. The cobblestones under his soles tell him that Hightown is near and he wordlessly turns into the alley that takes him to the mansion, leaving the others behind. He walks faster and faster until he is running through the streets. Nameless faces streak past until he reaches the door. He runs inside, through the suddenly silent main hall and up the stairs until he is finally in his room and the door falls closed behind him. 

His sword clatters to the ground. He falls to his knees and drops his forehead on his bed. For the first time in all the years that he can remember, he allows himself to cry.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I have been itching to write this scene for the last three chapters. I hinted at it a little but I wanted it to be a surprise. Were you surprised? Poor Fenris, so much suffering._  
>  As you probably have guessed by now, we will be deviating wildly from the game story from now on.
> 
> Also, lucky for all of us, I could convince mythlover20 to edit this stream of rambling into a coherent chapter. You should all read her stories to thank her.  
> 


	9. Moving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you a million to the few people who leave comments and Kudos. Sometimes it feels like nobody reads this and I'm writing to the void.  
> So thank you for reading!

* * *

He doesn't know for how long he hasn't left his room. He has not even left his bed except to go to the chamber pot. He made the effort to wash himself at some point but gave up on it halfway and went back to bed.

He feels sick to his bones. Anders has healed him as best as he could but his body is still fighting the effects of the poison and he is so weak. The first few days, he doesn't eat anything, only drinks the tea an elven girl brings him. It takes him a while to recognize the girl as Serlia, the young elf he had freed over a year ago.

She seems to have decided to take care of him and without her he might have starved. He growls at her and sends her away whenever she turns up but she ignores his protests and gives him bread and cheese to eat. She always sits on a chair next to his bed and waits until he has eaten and drank all of her terrible tea.

"What kind of poisonous brew is this?" he asks her one day, resigned in the fact that the girl will not go away until he finishes everything she has brought him.

"Orana says it's healthy tea, she showed me how to make it."

"Are you sure you're making it right?"

Serlia nods, her brows furrowed in earnest. She leans over and sniffs at the tea in his cup and recoils. "Would you like something else to drink?" she asks him, eying the tea with suspicion.

He would love to have wine. Thick, red wine, bottles and bottles of it. Draining them, letting the wine fill him until his mind goes numb and he can forget everything.

He shakes his head. "Tea is fine." He drains the rest of the bitter substance and buries the taste with the last piece of cheese from the plate.

Serlia takes the plate and hands him a napkin. "You have a visitor," she says, looking towards the half closed door.

Fenris sits up to see who stands out in the hallway. "Who is it?"

"A shemlen man with blue eyes," Serlia says.

The disappointment hits him like a knife and he has to admit to himself that he wishes it were Hawke standing there. "I don't want to see him," he growls and falls back onto his pillow.

Sebastian steps inside, chuckling softly. "Hawke warned me that you would not be too welcoming but said I should just ignore it."

"Hawke sent you?" Fenris asks and he hates how hopeful his voice sounds.

Sebastian sits down in the chair that Serlia occupied before him and nods. "She said that you might need someone to talk to and it couldn't be her. A lovers quarrel?"

Fenris turns away from his amused smile. "We are not lovers."

Sebastian's tiny smile tells that he doesn't quite believe him. He looks unfamiliar without his gleaming white armor, wearing just a plain shirt and a coat.

Serlia looks anxiously from one to the other and hovers by the door.

"Are you of faith?" Sebastian asks with a sudden breath.

What a strange question, he thinks. "Slaves were not allowed to express believes and I can say, at least in retrospect, that I did not feel warmly watched by the Maker."

"I wondered if you are an Andrastian..."

"I couldn't say." Fenris sits up, realizing that Sebastian does not intend to leave soon.

"Many elves believe in the Maker," Sebastian says. "I ask only because I wonder if your experiences... soured your faith."

Fenris takes a sharp breath. "My _experiences_? What a nice way of putting it." He breathes again, pushing the flare of anger down. "My faith was never strong. It's difficult for a slave to have faith in someone who abandoned them."

"The Maker didn't enslave you, Fenris," Sebastian says, barely audible.

"He did not help me either."

"And yet you are here, without a master. Maybe he did help you after all."

Fenris scowls at Sebastian. "Hasn't he turned away from the world anyway? He didn't watch me and he doesn't watch you. Waiting for the Maker to decide over your fate just means to not do anything."

Sebastian lowers his head. "The Chantry teaches us that he has turned away from his creations and will only return to us when everyone has accepted the Chant."

"Then I'm afraid he will have to wait a long time," Fenris says, ignoring the short flare of anger at the man. He has more important things to worry about. "Tell me, Sebastian, what does Andraste say about magic?"

"Andraste warns us of the dangers of magic and the Chantry believes it to be a terrible gift. Mages need to be controlled, the Chantry watches over the Circles to help them to live a peaceful life."

Fenris thinks back to what Hawke had said about the Circle and what she heard in the Gallows. Back then he had thought that she was only worried about her sister but now everything she did and said has new meaning. She does not just speak for her sister the mage, she speaks for herself and all other mages. "Hawke describes the Circle quite differently. Have you ever been to the Gallows?"

"No, I haven't." Sebastian looks at him for a moment. "I'm not even sure they'd let me in."

"You are a sworn brother to the Chantry, doesn't that give you the right to enter the Circle?" Fenris sits up straighter.

Sebastian eyes him critically. "Why are you so interested in the Circle?"

"Just curiosity."

Sebastian opens his mouth to say something but stays quiet. Fenris is grateful that he doesn't pry. He is pretty sure that Sebastian doesn't know that Hawke is a mage and he doesn't want to explain what has changed.

Sebastian stands up. "I must be off now. You are of course welcome anytime to visit the Chantry and speak to Andraste. I could even take a confessional, you know?"

"I'll think about it," Fenris says and lies back on his pillow.

Sebastian leaves with a nod. Fenris closes his eyes and almost drifts off to sleep when he notices that Serlia is still standing by the door with the empty plate in her hands.

"What's the matter, girl?"

She shifts her naked feet on the floor, not looking at him. "You don't like mages?"

"No," he answers before his emotions catch up with his mouth. His simple answers don't quite work anymore.

Serlia looks at him. "Why?"

"Mages have done bad things to me. They have power over other people and abuse them. And they are always tempted by demons, always in danger to turn into abominations."

"And what does the Chantry do?" Serlia still hasn't moved from the spot at the door and Fenris feels a chink coming up in his neck from looking over to her.

"The Chantry watches over the Circle," he says, leaning back onto the pillow. "They keep the mages under control."

"All of them?"

"All who the templars can find."

"And when the templars take the mages to the Circle, they can never go home again?"

"Didn't I just say that?" Fenris says with a sigh. He is tired and the thought of templars storming into a house, taking a mage with Hawke's face with them disturbs him more than he likes to admit.

Serlia doesn't say anything anymore and when he looks back, she has left and closed the door. He wants to fall asleep but the images of Hawke, bound and locked up, keep him awake for a long time.

* * *

The next day, he wakes up to cold tea on his bedside table and a bowl of cold grain pudding. He wonders what the matter is with Serlia because she usually brings him tea and grain pudding freshly made in the morning.

Around mid-day, Sebastian shows up again, this time blinding white in his armor. He gets fresh tea for Fenris from the kitchen but he can't stay long. Serlia doesn't show up all day and Fenris begins to feel quite lonely. Around the late afternoon, a slow and nagging hunger forces him to get up and leave his room to get something to eat.

The other elves who live in the house look up in surprise when he enters the kitchen.

"Did Serlia forget to bring you your supper?" Laresh asks him as he gently shoves him away from the stove and ladles soup into a bowl for him.

"I haven't seen Serlia all day," Fenris says. He sits down at the kitchen table and hurriedly eats the soup. He hasn't felt the bite of hunger in a long time and he doesn't care to bring those memories back.

Laresh stands still at the stove and hangs the ladle over the rim of the pot. "Kirin?" he calls out into the hall and after a moment a young elf with a dark red face appears in the kitchen. Laresh breaks off a piece of bread from a loaf and hands it to the boy. "Have you seen Serlia today?"

"No, I haven't," Kirin says between chewing and swallowing. "Not even this morning when we went to the city-gate to welcome the new refugees."

"Would you look for her, please, and tell her that I and Fenris are looking for her?" The boy nods and dashes out of the kitchen. Laresh looks thoughtfully after him. "Serlia likes to go on little adventures but she never stays away long and she always tells me or Orana where she goes."

Fenris can see how worried he is. He feels better now after the soup and his body seems to finally have overcome the poison. "I will look for her."

"Do you feel strong enough? You should not go alone."

"There you are," a familiar voice comes from the door. It's Sebastian, looking out of place in his shining white armor.

"Would you accompany me on a walk through the city?" Fenris asks Sebastian and doesn't quite wait for his answer.

"Of course."

Fenris goes back into his room to put on his armor. As he takes the gauntlets from the small table, papers get stuck in the edges and tumble to the ground. He stops and stares at them. He hasn't been in the school for the last few days and Serlia must have brought him homework.

The school. He would see Hawke there.

"Fenris?" Sebastian stands in the door. "What is going on?"

He picks up the papers and aligns them on the table. "We have to look for Serlia, the young elf girl who took care of me the last few days."

"What do you think happened?"

"I don't know, but I'm worried."

Sebastian nods and walks over to the banister, overlooking the hall. "What do her friends say?"

Fenris stops pulling buckles tight and looks up. "I don't know if she has friends."

"I'm sure she does, a friendly girl like her." Sebastian shakes his head. "Everybody has friends." He points to a group of children in one corner of the hall who seem to busy carving something out of blocks of wood. "Let's ask them."

Fenris follows him, pondering what he had just said. Everybody has friends. _Is that true?_

The children eye Sebastian with suspicion and only relax when Fenris appears at his side. Sebastian sits down on a bench and waits for Fenris to do the same. He turns to one of the bigger girls. "Do you know where Serlia is?"

The girl shakes her head and looks at Fenris.

"Has anything happened?" Fenris asks her. The girl nods and a few of the other kids whisper to each other.

"Tell me," he demands and instantly feels sorry when he sees her flinch. He takes a breath and tries to make his voice softer. "My apology, I did not mean to scare you. Just tell me what happened."

Another girl comes up, her chin raised high. "She said you would be angry," the girl says, looking him straight in the eyes. "But I think you should not be angry, she has done nothing wrong."

"She made ice," the older girl hinted, "with her finger."

Sebastian leans forward to keep his voice quiet. "She turned water to ice with her finger?"

"Magic," Fenris spits out.

The younger girl scowls at him. "So? She has done nothing bad." She gives him another angry looks and stomps away.

"Where do you think Serlia would go?" Sebastian asks.

The older girl shakes her head, "I don't know, maybe Merle knows."

Sebastian strains his neck to look after the angry girl. "The girl who just left, is that Merle?"

She nods and Fenris jumps up to follow the girl. He catches up with her at the main door and grabs her arm. She screams and he drops her arm, horrified at the look of naked fear she has for him.

"I apologize," he says, "I did not mean to scare you."

"I'm not scared," Merle says, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Serlia said that you are our friend as long as we don't have magic."

A hot bolt of embarrassment shoots through him. Is that really all there is to him? "It's not just about magic," he grumbles.

Sebastian comes up to them. "Do you have any idea where Serlia could be? Fenris is worried about her, regardless of her magical abilities."

Merle looks from him to Fenris and seems to relax. "She left so that the templars won't find her." She leans forward and lowers her voice as if she's telling a secret. "We heard Lady Hawke talk about it with the Guard captain. She said that the templars would just love to sniff around the school and this house if they could. And the guard captain said that they have no juris... juristica.."

"Jurisdiction," Sebastian says.

"Yes, that," Merle says with a nod, "they don't have that but they would love to use a search for mages as an excuse." She glances up to Fenris. "She is afraid of the Circle. Said she would never see us again if they brought her there."

"Do you know where she went?"

Merle shakes her head. She looks up to Fenris and the anger in her eyes reminds him of Hawke. "She has done nothing wrong, she helps everyone every day. You can't send her to the Circle!"

"I promise, I won't let the templars get her." He bows his head to the angry elf girl. "I may not like mages but I'm not inclined to leave a child to the whims of corrupt templars or have her locked up in the Circle under the questionable rule of the Knight Commander."

The girl seems to think that over and nods after a moment.

Sebastian chuckles, "A simple 'I won't hand her to the Circle' would have been suffice I think."

Fenris sighs, the tips of his ears feeling hot.

The girl shakes her head at Sebastian. "I'm not stupid, I understood what he said." She scowls at the human noble and turns to Fenris. "We've been to the old part of the Alienage a few times, maybe she went there."

"Let's start there," Sebastian says and adjusts his bow on his back.

"Thank you Merle," Fenris says to the girl, bowing his head, "I'll let you know – "

"I'm coming with you," Merle says and walks past Sebastian to the door.

Sebastian smiles at him and shrugs, following the girl outside. Fenris decides not to argue with the determined girl. Maybe her help could be useful.

Merle leads them to Lowtown. Fenris realizes that he hasn't seen this part of the town in daylight in a long time. It is still dirty and smells but at least the setting sun touches the roads here, unlike in Darktown. He enjoys the weak rays of the wintersun on his skin. The cobblestones under his feet feel cold but not unbearingly so yet.

When they reach the Alianage, the cobblestones are covered with straw. Even if elves prefer to go barefoot, a bit of straw on the cold stones make walking outside easier. Soon, even the elves will start to wear shoes during the winter in these cold marches.

Merle walks up to an elven merchant and speaks to her. Sebastian wants to walk closer but Fenris holds him back. "Leave them alone, Merle will tell us what she found out."

"Why? I want to hear what she says," Sebastian says.

"Don't you see what we are here?" Fenris says quietly, pulling the human near the wall of one of the houses. "You are a shemlen and I'm an oddity." He directs Sebastian's attention to the signs of violence and poverty all around them. "This is Kirkwall, they have no reason to trust a shemlen and they have learned to be careful of oddities."

"But I would never mean them any harm!" Sebastian calls out, his voice raised in taken offense.

"There is no way of knowing that for them, maybe you don't even know it yourself. You are chantry." He is surprised how much he sounds like Hawke in this moment.

Sebastian deflates with acceptance. "The chantry has failed the elves in many ways, I have to admit that. I guess, as a brother of the chantry, I can not expect much trust from them."

"You are a strange brother of the chantry sometimes," Fenris says. "You laws demand that you report mages to the templars and yet you have not reported Merrill or Anders." _Or Hawke, if you only knew._

"It is indeed our duty to tell them." Sebastian's voice is quiet and Fenris feels like he has given this a lot of thought.

"And yet you haven't done it."

"I guess I was hoping they'd come to it on their own." Sebastian keeps looking at his feet and Fenris can see the conflict raging within him.

But he has no pity for the man, no empathy for a conflict that he is struggling with himself. "And then you wouldn't have to betray Hawke's friends, right?" he spits at him, directing the agony at Sebastian instead of himself. He may not know freedom but he knows loyalty.

"That's not reason enough to allow a maleficar to walk free," Sebastian says under his breath.

"To walk free, isn't that a right for every man and woman born in Thedas?" It slips out, this declaration of what he believes to be true. He stills as he realizes what he just said. "Now I sound like Anders," he groans.

Sebastian chuckles and the tension between them dissipates. "Indeed you do. Maybe I should take his remarks into consideration more if even you find truth in them. If he just wasn't so loud about it all the times."

"If he wasn't loud, would you even listen to him? The elven slaves of Tevinter have suffered in silence for centuries and nothing has ever been done to improve their lives," Fenris says and suddenly feels guilty for how he had resented the other slaves. They had been envious of his privileged position and he had been envious of their relative freedom. They had never been shown around like a prized pet to other magisters as proof of the genius of his master.

Merle grabs his arm to get his attention and he sucks in a breath when she touches a marking. Recently, the burn of his brands has gotten worse again. "Don't touch me," he hisses at her and adds, "please," when he sees her eyes widen in shock. "I'm sorry but those markings hurt sometimes."

"I'm sorry," Merle says and pulls her hand away is if she's burned herself.

"It's no matter, you could not have known," he says, trying to sound calm. "What did the merchant say?"

"She says she saw Serlia talk to a mage who lives here, and that she went with her."

"Merrill? Was it Merrill who took her with her?" Fenris hurries to ask. At least then she would be save, of that he is strangely sure.

"You know Merrill?"

"Yes, Merrill is... a friend," he says, hesitating only a bit. "Let's go and talk to her."

Merrill's house smells different than the area under the tree. He has never noticed before that the tree has a smell, covering the normal stink of Lowtown. But the inside of Merrill's house smells even more fruity, a mixture of her tea and other things like leaves and flowers that sit in bowls and cups everywhere in her rooms.

"Fenris! Are you well? I was going to visit you but Hawke said..." Merrill doesn't finish that sentence and moves like she wants to hug him but stops with a look at his markings. He is grateful that she remembers not to hug him and he takes her hand and holds it for a moment. He notices marks on her arms that are still healing from where she cut herself to use her own blood in a magical ritual.

He recoils from the marks, letting her hand drop from his. She looks away, a sad smile playing on her lips. She takes a step to Merle and kneels down in front of her, taking her hands in hers.

"Have you seen Serlia?" Merle asks her and Merrill nods.

"Yes, she was here yesterday, we talked about magic." She throws a quick look to Fenris. "She made snowflakes, it was beautiful."

"Did she say where she wanted to go?" Fenris asks, keeping his distance from all this magic.

"Why, didn't she come back to the mansion?"

"No, nobody knows where she is."

Merrill presses her hand over her mouth, muffling a gasp. "Oh dear."

Fenris steps over to her. "What is it?"

"We talked about the clan, about the keeper and what she taught me. She wanted to meet her. And she was so afraid..." Merrill looks at him and quickly looks away.

"What was she afraid of?"

Merrill wrings her hands. "That you would take her to the templars."

Fenris feels his ears get hot. The Gallows are no place for a child, he would never have let her be taken there.

Merrill is shoving things into her pack and grabs her staff on the way out. "She might be on the way to the Sundermount to find my clan."

Merrill is fast on her feet, hurrying them through the darkening streets. Merle has to run to keep up with them. She takes another turn and Fenris recognizes that they are on their way to the Amell estate. Of course, who else would Merrill ask for help but Hawke?

Bodhan opens for them, wearing a spotty apron and holding a long, wooden spoon in one hand. "Lady Hawke is on the roof. It's almost dinner time," he scolds as he steps to the side to let them in.

"The roof?" Merrill asks.

"I know the way," Fenris says and runs up the stairs and through the small hallway that leads to the ladder at the trapdoor. He climbs up and quickly walks over to the bench where he sees Hawke sitting, halfway hidden behind the tall grass growing in the buckets. She has a small flame dancing on the palm of her hand like it is the most normal thing in the world. He recognizes the faint smell of fire now, the same he had smelled the last time he was up here.

Her head turns and a wide smile, full of relief and joy, spreads on her face. But it quickly disappears when she catches his eye and a mask seems to slip on her face, friendly but cautious.

"Hello Fenris, I'm glad you seem to be well again."

He wants to say something but his throat is tight and dry and all words have left him. Seeing her, doing magic, there is something so unreal and bizarre to it. She still looks the same: tall, broad shoulders, thick muscled arms that wield a sword as tall as herself on any day. But a flame dances on her palm without singing the calloused skin. She notices him staring at it and it dies down.

"Oh Hawke, it's beautiful up here!" Merrill squeals from behind, saving Fenris from having to come up with anything to say to Hawke.

Hawke smiles and waves Merrill forward but she quickly explains why they are here and Hawke hurries down the ladder to get her armor and weapons. He can hear Merrill and Merle talk downstairs in Hawke's room as he suddenly finds himself alone on the roof. The view is still beautiful but he doesn't quite see it.

He had not quite expected how much his heart would hurt upon seeing her.

"Fenris?" Merrill calls from the bottom of the ladder. Merrill, not Hawke.

He finally focuses his eyes on the horizon in the direction of Sundermount and his brows forrow at the sight of dark, almost black clouds blurring the line between sky and ground.

"It looks like we will be getting rain," he says as he climbs down the ladder.

"Let's take a tarp with us," Hawke says and takes a bundle from a closet that she hands to Sebastian. He smiles at her as if he has been given a gift and it annoys Fenris immensely.

"I'm not sure if Serila even has a coat," Merle says and Merrill pulls her into a hug. The fierce little girl looks like she wants to protest but suddenly drops her weight on Merrill and sobs quietly into her shoulder.

Hawke lowers herself down on one knee and places a hand on Merle's back. "Listen Merle, I want you, Kirin and Dunida to look for Serlia here in the city, in case she is hiding around here. Also, find Anders and the girls that helps him at the clinic and ask them if they have seen her or heard anything."

Merle wipes her eyes and straightens. "What should we do if we find her?"

"Take her to Anders, he'll know what to do," Hawke says, very much not looking at him, Fenris notes. He wonders what exactly that means. How much is Hawke involved with Anders and the mage underground?

Bodahn waits at the door, handing Hawke a small bag with food, his tired smile showing that this is not the first time he hands Hawke provisions for her adventures.

"Will you be gone for long, Serah Hawke?"

"It will be a few days probably. Please let Ser Oberfein know that I have to postpone our appointment. I will speak to him when we are back."

"Very well, Serah, I'll await your return."

Outside Hawke takes a critical look at the darkened sky. "Not much light left, we better get going."

They take up a brisk pace, only stopping once at the stand where Fenris buys his bread to buy a snack for the road. The baker girl smiles at Hawke, her eyes taking on a dreamy shine. Fenris shakes his head, half the city seems to be infatuated with her and he can't even be mad about it.

It's getting darker by the minute and soon they can't see where they walk anymore. They set up camp at the edge of the forest, the gates of Kirkwall looming in the distance. They prepare the rabbits Sebastian shot on the way and talk while they roast over the fire.

"I hope Serlia knows how to be safe in the woods at night," Hawke says.

"She is a smart girl," Fenris says, assuring himself as much as her.

Hawke looks at him but quickly looks away when their eyes meet. "Yes, she is. And she reads a lot." It isn't clear what she means by that but they all nod knowingly and sit in silence for a while.

Sebastian pokes the fire. "Why did you have an appointment with Ser Oberfein?"

Hawke looks confused for a moment, having been lost in thought. "Oh them, yes. The Oberfeins produce fabric and clothes. The have a weaving place and a few seamstresses in their employ. They are looking to grow their business and I want him to employ some of the refugees."

"Oh, that would be good," Merrill says, "they need something to do. It's frustrating if you have to sit around all day."

"There's no much work around in Kirkwall and Ser Oberfein seems to be under the impression that he could get new elves to work for him without paying them fairly." A grim smile settles on Hawke's face. "That's why I wanted to meet him, to wipe that idea from his mind in a friendly way."

"I'm sure you can be very convincing," Sebastian chuckles.

"Sometimes, but in the end I'm also just a refugee from Ferelden and those snobbish bastards love to let me know that in so many little ways." She shakes her head and gets up. "I'm taking first watch. There have been too many rumors about Tal-Vasoth taking control of this region."

"I take second watch," Fenris says before Sebastian can offer it. There is a tiny bit of hope that he can talk to Hawke alone when they switch watch and he can't stand the bitter air between them anymore.

She steps away from the fire, her long sword in her hand and leans against a tree outside of the circle of light. Fenris tries to concentrate on the dancing flames but his eyes keep getting drawn to the dark outline of her watching into the night. On the other side of the fire he can hear Merrill and Sebastian talk about the Chantry and Andraste but Merrill soon grows tired of the conversation and cuddles up in her blanket to sleep.

Fenris is grateful that Sebastian is not trying to engage him in a conversation. He keeps looking at Hawke and finally untangles himself from his blanket and goes to her, knowing that he won't be able to sleep. He throws a branch on the flickering fire and steps out of the circle of light it casts.

"Hawke," he says quietly to avoid getting stabbed.

"I was wondering if you would come and talk to me," Hawke says, turning to him. The moon is not out yet, her face still doused in darkness but with his lyrium enhanced vision, her eyes light up for him like elven eyes. She has a red band tangled around her fingers and plays with absentmindedly.

He looks away and stands at her side, close enough to talk. But he looks at the stars, he can't look at her. Questions crowd his mind but none come clear. "How?" is all he can say.

"How what?" Hawke sighs out. "How can I be a mage? How can I be a mage and not kill everyone with bloodmagic? How can I be a mage and keep it secret?"

"The last one." He almost looks at her but then turns back to the stars. Back in Danarius' library he has seen pictures of constellations in books but he could not read the names underneath. Now he recognizes some shapes and structures and he even knows some of their names. It fills him with pride that he knows these things now.

"When Bethany showed her magic as a child, it practically exploded from her, she was incredible powerful right from the start," Hawke says with a dreamy voice. "And everything changed. An adult Aposte knows that he has to hide and be inconspicuous but how can you explain that to a four year old child? We had to leave in a hurry so many times that Carver stopped unpacking his bag, he just slept on top of it. After a few years of training, Bethany had learned to control her power and the accidental fires and exploding sheds stopped." She shakes her head with a quiet chuckle. "There was even an exploding cow at some point." She smiles, looking into the distance and Fenris feels that she would have many more stories to tell but a quick look to him makes her swallow and the smile fades.

"We could finally settle down on a farm in Lothering, live a normal life. And then my magic showed after I turned 12. Very late for a mage and not strong and exploding." She holds out her hand and the yellow-green flame appears on her palm, the light illuminating her face. "I wanted to prepare the fire and suddenly I had the flame on my hand. And I –" she sighs and lets the flame die. "I wasn't looking forward to the life of an Apostate, we had just settled down, the crops were growing, the pigs had a whole bunch of piglets and we had a good home. I just wanted that, a home. So I hid my magic."

"But mages can sense mages, how could you hide it from your family?"

"I'm not a powerful mage by any means. There's a difference between learning spells and channeling raw magic power you know? I can learn spells but my raw magic is weak. Bethany taught me what she had learned from my father, taught me control. What I have is a kind of force magic, I use it to increase my strength but not so much that a templar would feel it. My parents had a collection of enchanted amulets to cover magic and I always have one on me." She feels for a leather band around her neck and pulls out a silver amulet. "This wasn't even the prettiest but it's the only one I still have." She lets the amulet fall back on her chest under her shirt and for a moment she looks in his eyes. He wants to reach for her but he can't. Everything is wrong.

Hawke looks back at the stars, their lights reflecting in her eyes. "I'm sure my father knew of my magic but we never spoke about it. Bethany was the mage, his legacy. I took care of the farm, together with Carver. Someone had to." She sighs. "And then father died and everything went downhill from there. The blight came to Lothering, Carver went looking for the templars and never came back and eventually we had to run."

She turns to him, taking a step closer. He can see the glimmer of his own eyes reflect in hers. "And then Kirkwall, dirty and cruel. Two mages in a city filled with templars. It was a stupid idea, really. I hated the place from the first day, no matter what mother said." She looks at him, her eyes searching his face. "But then I found friends and the city has kind of grown on me. I met you..." She lets the the sentence hang, her lips slightly open and it's so easy to lean closer, to tilt his head to the side to welcome her lips on his. It's easy, like a habit. He knows how to do this, he –

_You have learned this so well, little wolf!_

He freezes, his body paralyzed. The lyrium brands burn like acid. "I can't," he whispers, his lips brushing against hers.

Hawke's eyes go wide and she stumbles backwards until her back hits a tree. "I'm sorry!" she presses out, her hand clasping over her mouth. "I'm so sorry, I have no right," she whispers, "I should not..." Her hand stretches out but she refrains from touching him. "Everything will always be your choice, I promise."

The red ribbon has fallen down without her noticing and he bends down to pick it up. She looks out into the night again, avoiding to look at him. "I know you feel betrayed, you have every right to do so. And I know that we can't go back to what... we almost had. But I wish that we could at least be friends again."

"I miss our friendship," he says. "I can not forget what happened but your friendship still means a lot to me."

She turns to him, her eyes bright. "It means a lot for me too." She sees the red ribbon in his hand and reaches for it. He pulls away, he doesn't want to give it up, it feels like he has a piece of her in his hand. "You can keep it if you want, as a sign of our friendship?" she says, looking into his eyes.

His voice scratches in his throat, "I would like that."

She smiles and it warms him from deep inside. "Soon you hair will be long enough that you can use it to tie a braid." She carefully plucks the ribbon from his hand and ties it loosely around his wrist.

_Bound again, little wolf..._

She stills and the way she looks in his eyes burns deep down into his soul. "You don't have to keep it on though, you know? It's not a leash."

He breathes out and a weight seems to have lifted from his mind. He can breathe and think again.

They stand in silence, watching the stars until Hawke admits that she is tired and settles down at the fire. Fenris takes up watch, leaning against the tree like she has done before, listening into the night. It seems so peaceful but he knows what lurks underneath the silver light of the stars.

* * *


	10. Adaption

He wakes up with a scream rasping in his throat and the remnants of a nightmare still clinging to his mind. 

_Bound yourself to a mage again, little wolf?_

The red band is wound around his hand and for a moment it looks like dripping blood. He scrunches up into a ball, hiding it inside his hand, his fingers curled so tight that he can't see it anymore. He stares at his fist and slowly the need to scream goes away. 

Once he can breathe again he looks around in the soft morning light. A thin trail of smoke rises up from the dying fire. Merrill sleeps on her side, curled up and her face hidden inside the blankets. Hawke is lying on her back next to her, snoring and her arms stretched out to the side, her blanket not covering her anymore. The morning is still crisp and cold. Fenris crawls over to her and carefully pulls the blanket out from under her to cover her with it. She sighs and rolls to the side, curling up like Merrill.

Fenris looks at her, how the golden light plays on her soft skin, how calm she looks. The harshness of her usual expression is replaced by childlike peace. His fist unclenches and the red fabric spills out over his hand. It is not a leash, she had said. But if it was, if it is a leash, wouldn't he like to be leashed to her? If he were to leash himself to any mage, would it be wrong if he wishes it would be her?

_**Never will I be a mage's property again!** _

He stuffs the red band into his pocket, shoving it deep down so that it will never be seen and scrambles to get up, to get away. He is too close. His feet carry him towards the small stream on the edge of their camp where he finds Sebastian.

The exiled prince is kneeling on a patch of mossy grass, praying, his face towards the rising sun. His words are too quiet to understand but the soft rumble of a chant carries over to Fenris. He stands still, watching the world wake up around them, listening to the chant. Calm slowly settles back over him. He closes his eyes and let's the rising sun warm his face. It's almost like he's asleep and he startles when Sebastian speaks to him.

"Fenris?"

"What?"

"I asked if you wanted to join in with the chant," Sebastian said.

"I don't know the chant."

"I can teach you. Now or later. You can find me in the Chantry every morning and I would be happy if you joined me."

Fenris searches Sebastian's face wondering if he's making fun of him but he only finds sincerity. "Maybe I will."

Sebastian nods and tightens the scabbard around his waist. "Let's see what kind of breakfast Hawke's housekeeper has packed for us." He walks towards the camp, leaving Fenris alone with nature waking up around him. A small bird picks at a tiny flower in the moss and flies away with an angry yell when Fenris moves. 

Heavy boots stomping through the grass behind him tell him that Hawke approaches. Her grace is not in her walk and he would recognize the way she stamps her footprint on the earth anywhere. She comes up to his side, a steaming cup in her hands and Fenris sends a silent thank to Bodahn for providing coffee for Hawke. He likes coffee but Hawke is unbearable without it. She smiles at him and holds out a piece of bread and stick of cheese.

He takes it with a bow from his head and alternates biting from the bread and the cheese. The remaining water from his canteen helps swallowing the dry pulp

"Is that still Kirkwall water?" Hawke asks.

"Yes?"

Hawke makes a face of disgust. "Oh no, throw that away, use the water from the stream, it's so much better." 

Fenris has to smile, who knew that Hawke, who would eat tree bark and bugs if provisions ran out, was a snob when it came to water. He does as she said, dumping the water and kneels down to refill the canteen from the stream. There's tiny bugs and miniature fish swimming in the water and he can't imagine that it would be so much better. He has traveled through the wilderness for years and never cared what his water tasted like as long as it looked clean. But he dutifully takes a sip and smiles at her, indicating that he likes the taste. 

He can't get enough of her happy smile in return.

"Come on, we should get going. Merrill thinks that there's Tal-Vasoth nearby."

Fenris eats the last piece of bread and follows Hawke back to the camp. "How does she know about the Tal-Vasoth?" he asks.

Hawke shrugs. "I have no idea. Sometimes I think the flowers talk to her or some shit like that. She just knows things."

They quickly pack up their things and cover the glimmering remains of the fire with sand. Merrill walks ahead but Hawke soon takes over because Merrill keeps stopping to look at pretty flowers.

"Merrill, I'll be grateful for any elfroot you can find," Hawke says, pulling Merrill away from a moss with blue flowerbells peeking out, "but we have to hurry, I want to find Serlia before the Tal-Vasoth sew her mouth shut."

Merrill stares at her in shock and grips her staff tighter. "Why would anybody do that?"

"I'll be old and grey before I understand the qunari, so I can't tell you," Hawke says. "They call mages Saarebas, which apparently means 'explodes when watched' and to prevent them from saying spells, they cut out their tongues and sew their mouth shut."

"Saarebas means 'dangerous thing'," Fenris says, recalling what he has learned from stories in Tevinter and from what his travel companion Honour told him. "The qun demands that every qunari has a purpose and lives to the best of his or her own self. But mages are tempted by demons and could lose their self to them. That's why qunari admire mages for their strength but keep them chained to watch them in case they lose control."

Hawke looks at him, a harsh line on her forehead. After a few moments she turns to Merrill with a bitter smile, "There you have it, they only want the best for their mages. Keeping them chained and mutilated for their own protection." She throws a glance at Sebastian. "Makes you wonder why the chantry and the qunari don't get along like nugs in the mud; Grand Cleric Elthina and Knight Commander Meredith should have tea with the Arishok sometimes." She snorts, a bitter laugh over her own joke. "Would spare _me_ having to talk to him all the time at least."

Nobody says anything. Hawke's bad mood is tangible in the air and even Merrill seems to be affected by it. Her usual smile is gone and she holds her staff like club in front of her, ready to strike. Hawke walks beside her, her hand on her sword and they make their way towards Sundermount in dark silence.

It wouldn't be a Hawke quest if they would not come across packs of bandits that think this small group of travellers is easy prey. Fenris is even grateful for them because it gives Hawke and Merrill ample opportunity to work out their anger and frustration in brutal bloodshed. A few terrified screams and the rumble of primal forces surging through the ground later, and the group’s mood has improved considerably. 

Apart from a short break to hunt a wild pig for later, they keep a steady pace up to the mountain. Fenris can see that Hawke is getting more worried the closer the sun moves towards the horizon. They came across a few bandits and a group of refugees on their way from Kirkwall, but the closer they get to Sundermount, the fewer people they meet. There is still no trace of the little girl.

The shadows are getting long and it's getting colder. Hawke orders Fenris and Sebastian to find a place to camp while Merrill and her scout further ahead to look for Serlia. Fenris knows this area pretty well by now, from earlier trips to Merrill's clan and from his own travels. There's many places here that provide good cover for a camp over night.

They find an area off the path, an overhang that would keep them protected on three sides. Sebastian builds a fire, fiddling with a firestriker to kindle a flame in a bundle of straw. Fenris wants to tell him that he should just wait for Hawke to throw in her magical fire. The revelation stops him dead in his way. That she is a mage has become so normal for him, that he almost spilled the secret to Sebastian. 

"Did you hear something?" Sebastian asks.

Fenris startles. "Hear what?"

"You looked like you heard something," Sebastian said. He finally manages to create a spark and softly blows into the straw to feed the flames. Thin whiffs of smoke rise up until the fire takes hold and he places the bundle under a few sticks to set them alight.

Fenris shakes his head. "No I haven't heard..." He stops because in this moment he hears the distinct stomp of Hawke's boots and she is running fast. He pulls his sword and Sebastian looks up at the sound. "Hawke is coming," he says. 

Sebastian jumps up and readies his bow.

Fenris runs back towards the path just in time to run into Hawke, followed by Merrill. 

"We found her," Hawke huffs out, bending over to catch her breath. "There's a group of Tal-Vasoth on the other side of that formation. About 20."

Fenris is almost afraid to ask. "They have Serlia? Is she well?" Sebastian appears at his side and puts a hand on his shoulder.

Hawke coughs once and straightens her back. "Her hands and feet are shackled but she looks unharmed so far. Maybe they haven't decided what to do with her yet. I would very much prefer not to fight all of them. We're good but they're many."

"What is your plan?" Fenris asks.

Hawke grins. "When have I ever been known to be good at planning? I was actually thinking of letting you lead this mission. You started this all and you have the language skills."

"Do you expect me to talk them out of binding her to an Arvaarad?" 

"See? You even know what that guy is called, all I know is that the one time I tried to save a Saarebas from his Arvawhatsit, he set himself on fire. I'm clearly not the right person for this."

Fenris remembers that moment. Hawke, anger radiating off her at the treatment of the qunari mage. Back then he had not known how personal the mage's destiny was for her. She was so sure that she did the right thing, that she was saving the mage but he could not handle his sudden independence. Fenris knew this mindset, the feeling of loss when the rules that had held your whole life in place, crumble around you and leave you in fear. When everything you ever knew of your life is wrong and the isolation begins to choke you. Fenris remembers this well.

He swallows down the bile that wants to rise in his throat and says, "I can try but I cannot promise that I'm able to convince them."

Hawke comes a bit closer to him. "Nobody can promise anything. We all just do what we can and hope for the best," she says warmly. She steps to the side and indicates that he should lead the way. "Let's see how far we get and if we have to fight them, then that's what we'll do. Wouldn't be the first time, right?"

He nods and takes a breath to hide his fears. He sheathes his sword and walks back up the way that Hawke and Merrill came. Hawke falls in step beside him and after a while points out the path to the side that leads them to a clearing with thorny bushes. Their red flowers spread a sticky, sweet smell around them makes Hawke look ill and Merrill giggle in joy. 

"I remember these," Merrill says, poking one the red flowers, "we called them 'Stinky Ticklers', their seeds make you itch and they are very sticky. We used to shove them down someone's back."

"And here I thought elves would never be so silly," Fenris said.

"I can be very silly," Merrill says and her smile is infectious.

"I don't doubt that for a second," Fenris says, foregoing a more biting remark he might have made a year ago.

The sight of the camp ahead of them makes them stop. Fenris counts 16 qunari around a fire, one to the side, and two guards sitting on boulders. He looks at Hawke, who nods and they walk towards the fire with secure steps. Hawke is right by his side and he knows that Merrill and Sebastian are following them at a small distance. 

The guards stand up when they see them approach and shout something towards the camp. All qunari stand up, a wall of giant men that are intimidating even before they have drawn their weapons. Fenris swallows down the instinctual fear reaction and greets the qunari in qunlat.

One qunari steps forward and acknowledges him with a nod. "What do you have to say, bas?"

Fenris wonders if he knows any more respectful greetings but decides to get straight to the point. "We are looking for a young, elf girl that has escaped our care. Have you seen her?"

There is a mumbled discussion among the giant men in short words. Fenris doesn't understand everything but he recognizes words like not-trustworthy and weak. The leader turns back to him and points to the qunari sitting a bit to the side. "Karasaad has found a elf bas, who made ice with her hand. He has bound her to protect her from herself."

Fenris feels Hawke next to him practically vibrate in anger but she doesn't say anything and her hand is not yet hovering over the pommel of her sword. "May we speak to her?" he asks. 

The leader nods and at the same time the other qunari settle back around the fire, considering them not to be dangerous. Fenris and Hawke walk over to the guarding qunari and see Serlia kneeling on the ground behind him. Her hands are bound behind her back, her face is dirty and tears have drawn white streaks over her cheeks that have long dried. She doesn't cry anymore, she doesn't even look up when he and Hawke approach.

The qunari that guards her looks at Fenris and a strange expression runs over his face. It takes him a moment but then he recognizes him. It is the qunari he had met during his travels in the summer.

Fenris bows his head towards the qunari. "You know me, Honour, I travelled with you."

The qunari nods. "I remember Fenris. I remember that you gave me name. Here I am Karasaad but you called me Honour." He looks over to Hawke. "Who is this bas with you?"

"This is Hawke."

"You spoke of Hawke, spoke of her as a great and honorable warrior."

Hawke's cheeks get a rosy tint and she bows her head towards Honour. "Greetings, Karasaad Honour." 

A typical qunari silence stretches out between them, unspoken thoughts lingering in the air.

Hawke just ignores the tension and kneels down in front of Serlia. "Hey, Serlia, are you hurt?" The girl slowly raises her head, it seems like she wakes up from a dream.

"Serah Hawke? What are you doing here?" she whispers.

"I helped Fenris search for you."

She looks up but when her eyes meet his, the happiness in her looks disappears. She lowers her head and doesn't react anymore.

Hawke tries to talk to her more but soon gives up. She stands up and faces Honour. "This is no place for a little girl, you have to let us take her home."

"She is Saarebas, she is dangerous." 

"And we will take care of her and make sure that she will not hurt anyone," Hawke says, “but she is also just a little girl and not qunari, this is no place for her."

"Would you fight all of us to take her?" 

Fenris answers before Hawke can, "Yes we would. We don't want to but we would."

The qunari looks between them. "I am just Karasaad, I follow Karasten."

"But you are also Honour," Fenris says, almost wanting to shake him, "you have your own thoughts."

The qunari stares at him and Fenris stares back. Finally the red painted giant looks away and stands up. "I know I am Honour. I will speak to Karasten on your behalf." He walks over to the leader and after exchanging what looks like five words at maximum, he returns to them with him. 

"Karasaad spoke in your favour. We trust you to take the Saarebas and secure her."

He looks at Hawke for an answer but she just stares and seems to have forgotten how to speak. Fenris raises his head and looks the Sten in the eyes. "We will ensure her safety and the safety of all others."

Both qunari nod and turn away to walk to the fire. They sit down and seem to have forgotten that Hawke and Fenris are still in their camp and Sebastian and Merrill are watching them from further away.

Hawke cuts the bindings on Serlia's feet and wrists and lifts the child up to carry her. The girl lets her handle her like lifeless doll, her head lolling to the side as Hawke walks away with quick steps. She keeps looking behind her, as if she expects the qunari to change their minds but they leave without disturbance.

They hurry to get away and Hawke only slows her steps when they are out of sight of the Tal-Vasoth camp. "Andraste's tits," Hawke says to Merrill and Sebastian, "that was really weird."

Sebastian flinches at the use of his holy lady's name in this way. "They let you just take her?" he asks.

"We had to promise to secure her," Hawke says, "but Fenris had a friend there, he spoke for us."

Sebastian raises his eyebrows in surprise. "What a versatile companion you are, Fenris," he says. "When I'm going back to Starkhaven, you're welcome to come with me."

Fenris stops still. "To do what exactly?" 

Hawke and Merrill keep walking but Sebastian pauses at his side. "To command an army, to train warriors. You are a fine warrior." 

"I am no leader," Fenris spits out. "I'm just an escaped slave, living in hiding."

Sebastian shakes his head. "You are a fine man, a great warrior, living free and as you want. You give yourself too little credit. Just think about it." He bows his head once and sprints forward to catch up with Hawke and Merrill.

Fenris stares after him. It takes him a while to gather his thoughts and follow the others.

They march back towards their camp. The girl in Hawke's arm doesn't make a sound and her eyes are closed. Fenris would think that she is asleep but he catches her looking at him. It hurts to see how she looks away in fear when his eyes meet hers.

At the camp, Sebastian fights with the firestriker again to start the fire until Merrill ignites it with a small fireball. Sebastian shakes his head but just piles the thicker branches on top of the burning straw bundle. 

Merrill sits down next to Serlia and shows her the flowers and herbs she picked today. Her constant chatter distracts the girl and she even sits up to look at the little bundles that Merrill spread out on a cloth. 

When Fenris approaches them, she startles and curls up again. He doesn't know what to do. He just stands there, the fire warming his ankles. 

Hawke comes up to him. "She's scared, you have to talk to her," she says.

"I don't know what to say."

"Tell her that you won't give her to the templars."

Fenris looks up to her, angry that she would think him that cruel. "Of course not!"

"She doesn't know that," Hawke says quietly, "and frankly, I'm not sure either. You spoke of locking up mages often enough."

"You know I would never... ," he starts but stops, afraid to give away her secret if he continues. 

"Maybe I know but... words have meaning, Fenris. Spoken words, written words, they mean something. She needs to hear it," she says and holds his gaze. There is a longing in her eyes. Something that tells him that she needs to hear it too.

He sits down next to Serlia. His lyrium marks are burning, itching. He knows it is because he is nervous but it feels so close to the nightmares that wake him up sometimes, that he has to close his eyes and concentrate on his breathing for a moment before he can speak. When he opens his eyes again, Serlia is watching him.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he says, watching her. "I would never give you to the templars."

"You said that mages are dangerous and hurt people and have to go to the Circle. I know what the Circle is, I know what they do, I don't want to go there." Her voice gets stronger as she speaks. She is scared but there is an angry defiance in her voice that shows glimpses of the strong woman she might become one day. A strong mage who learned that the world hates and fears her and that her friends betray her, is that who he wants her to become one day?

He looks at his hands, the white lines carved into his flesh, patterns that Hawke called beautiful and that remind him every waking moment of what magic can do. "What I said came from my own fears, from what has been done to me," he says, searching for words. "What I fear is the power of mages, their disregard of life, their hunger for power. A mage has made me into a weapon, into a thing he can own and order to do his will."

Serlia stares at the lines on his hands. 

"I am learning," he says, becoming aware of it as he formulates his thoughts. "I have met mages, more than I ever cared to know and they have treated me with kindness. I have never --" he looks over to Merrill and catches Hawke's eyes, "I have never thanked them for their trust and friendship but I know that I can trust them. I know that people can be good and mages at the same time." 

Serlia seems to relax. Hawke comes over to them and sits down on her other side. The girl watches her and somehow, the way Hawke looks at her with that friendly smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, makes the girl talk. Slowly, her voice barely more than a whisper, she begins to tell how the qunari caught her. 

They found her where she slept up on a tree where she had tied herself to a branch. It was high enough to protect her from animals but still easy to reach for a giant qunari. She woke up when the Tal-Vasoth untied her and looking at the horned giant scared her so much that she froze his hands with ice. It was just an instinctual reaction and not even enough to keep his hands from moving but it was enough to scare the Tal-Vasoth.

"They tied my hands and put something like a mask over my mouth. And then they sang."

"Sang?" Hawke asks.

Serlia nods, and clenches her hands together so tight her knuckles turn white. "Like a chant. I couldn't understand it at first but then they changed it. It was Elvhen words and Trade too and they kept repeating them over and over."

"What kind of words?" Hawke covers Serlia’s hands with hers to try and comfort her.

"It was about danger, about corruption, demons. Magic is a sickness, a curse. A mage has to be bound and silenced because a mage will fall to demons. They kept saying it over and over..." Tears run down her face and Hawke pulls her into a hug.

_Words have meaning._

Hawke lets Serlia sob against her shoulder, petting her back until she calms down. After a while, the girls sits back up and cleans her face with a cloth that Hawke hands her. 

"I promise you that neither Fenris nor anyone else here is going to take you to the Circle," Hawke says, "but we have to find a place for you where you'll have a teacher to learn to control your magic." She looks over to Merrill. "Do you think... ?"

Merrill sighs. "I'm sure my clan can handle another little mage. At least she's an elf, they won't complain about more shemlen among them." 

It occurs to Fenris that this isn't the first time that Hawke and Merrill have saved a mage and transferred them to Merrill's clan. But before he was apparently never part of such missions. It pains him to think that she thought of him not trustworthy, that she thought he could not handle freeing a mage.

And in a way she had been right. 

Hawke turns back to Serlia. "Merrill's clan lives not far from here. They will take care of you and teach you but you have to do your part too. They will find something that you have to do for the clan to earn your keep. But you'll be safe there."

"The templars won't find me? The qunari?"

"No, the Dalish will protect you."

"Dalish? Real Dalish?" Serlia asks with wide eyes.

"Yes, real Dalish. They live up Sundermount and no templar has ever found them," Hawke says.

Serlia still looks scared and Hawke takes her hands. "I will visit you and Fenris too." She looks over to Fenris.

He hovers his hand over their hands for a moment before he dares to touch them. They both feel warm and his lyrium tingles with a reaction to their magic. "I will visit you if you want me to."

"And he won't give you to the templars, I promise," Hawke says. "Do you want to know why I know that?"

Serlia nods and Hawke grins. She raises one hand palm up and ignites her yellow flame. It flickers in the soft evening breeze and for a moment it looks like a tiny dragon dancing in her hand. Hawke smiles widely. "Because he hasn't betrayed me to the templars either."

Serlia's surprised squeal gets lost under the shocked shout coming from Sebastian. "Andraste's grace, Hawke! You're a mage?"

~***~


	11. Despair

It is almost a comical display how Sebastian glares at Hawke, the setting sun making his armor shine in gold and a dripping fish in his hand. Her silver armor with the big red splash that took Fenris forever to recognize as the shape of a dragon, looks just as shiny as his and if it weren't for the flame dancing in her hand, she would just be a warrior sitting at the fire.

"How Hawke, how... ?" He spreads out his arms to encompass the magnitude of his incomprehension but water from the fish flings in his face and ruins his stance. He throws the fish to the ground and points his finger at Hawke. "You are an apostate!"

"I'm aware," Hawke says dryly and gets up to pull him away from the fire and Serlia. The girl's eyes are wide as she stares at Sebastian. She looks fearful again and Fenris moves himself between her and Sebastian, blocking her view. 

Hawke pulls Sebastian to the line of hardy shrubs outside of the overhang where they have set up their camp. She speaks to him urgently, her voice too quiet to hear but Sebastian's voice is loud when he keeps telling her "No, no, I cannot excuse that!"

She finally has enough and yells at him, "Will you let it rest? I didn't tell anybody my secret, not just you. And I'm still the same person, I'm still your friend just like I was a few minutes ago!"

Sebastian pulls himself to his full height and stares at her in all his righteous Prince of Starkhaven glory. "You are an apostate, Hawke." It sounds like she has personally insulted him with that. He keeps staring at her until she throws up her arms and turns away from him. 

A few steps take her into the darkness outside the light of the fire and Fenris can just about see her outline. She has her arms wrapped around herself and looks up to the stars. He wants to go over to her and take her hand but that is not his place. 

Sebastian has grabbed his bow and his pack and looks over to them as if he waits for others to follow him. When nobody moves, he turns with a huff and disappears into the night. 

Hawke returns to the fire, he shoulders slumping as she sighs to herself. 

Merrill jumps up, nervously pacing on her tiptoes. "But Hawke, what are we going to do?"

Hawke give her a sad smile. "About Sebastian? He may have a sense for the dramatic but even he knows that these mountains are no place to walk around in alone at night. I'm sure he'll come around."

Merrill fiddles with a tassel on her dress. "Maybe I should go after him?"

Hawke lets out a bitter laugh. "You, a bloodmage? I don't think that's a good idea." She stares at the fire for a moment and a frown grows on her face. "Damn it all," she snarls and with a flick of her wrist she throws a fireball at the bonfire, causing a huge flame to dart out into the sky. 

She turns back at Merrill, who looks rather frightened. "No, I don't think you should go after him, I think Fenris should do it. Then they can talk about all the terrible mages and their powers and demons and how they would rather see us all made tranquil. Wouldn't that be nice."

"Hawke!" Merrill cries out. 

Fenris stares at her, coldness spreading in his chest.

She catches his look and her anger seems to evaporate. She bows her head and sighs. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm doing this." She sits down, her shoulders slumping forward in defeat.

Fenris is torn between the urge to comfort her and to yell at her.

A small voice pulls him back to the present. "Fenris?" Serlia looks up to him with wide eyes. "Will the man in the white armor go to the templars?"

"No," he says quickly. "No, he won't. I'm going after him and bring him back."

"Falon Hara," she says with an admiring smile.

"My name is Fenris," he says. He has never gotten used to the name the elves he freed have given to him. 

"I know," Serlia says. "You saved me again."

"It should not become a habit."

Serlia smiles at him for the first time since they have freed her from the Tal-Vasoth. "I won't run away again, I promise."

Fenris acknowledges the promise with a nod and takes his pack and his sword. His feet feel cold and the heath brushing his ankles is wet against his skin. He doesn't look forward to a trek around the mountain in the darkness despite his lyrium enhanced vision. But he welcomes the time to walk alone and think.

As he leaves the warm glow of the roaring fire, he casts a look towards Hawke. She doesn't look up, she just stares ahead into the fire, like a prisoner resigned in his fate. A terrible fear chokes him, the feeling that something is so broken between them by now that it can't be fixed.

~***~

It doesn't take him long to find Sebastian. The prince has not taken care to hide his steps and Fenris can easily follow the imprints of his boots to a creek trickling down the hillside. Sebastian kneels at the water, the sound of the splashing water almost covering the sing-song of his chant. Fenris waits for him to finish his prayer and steps closer when Sebastian looks up again.

"Did Hawke send you?" he asks.

"In a way, yes. Merrill volunteered but she thought my presence would be better."

Sebastian shakes his head and looks it has hands. "So many mages, even Hawke is one." He looks up to Fenris. "Did you know it? That Hawke is a mage too?"

Fenris hesitates before he answers. "I have only recently learned it. She has kept it secret, even from me." 

"How did you find out?"

"She cleansed my blood with magic after a poisoned arrow hit me. She saved my life."

"And now you are indebted to her, just like me," Sebastian says, nodding in understanding. "Without her I never would have had my vengeance."

"That's not the reason why I'm staying," Fenris says, vehemently shaking his head. "Not because I'm indebted to her but because she is truly kind and caring, she helps where she can, she is just, she has made this wretched town a home for many people... including me." He takes a breath to calm his rushing heart. "She has saved me in more ways than one."

"You are grateful, I understand." Sebastian looks him in the eyes now. His anger seems to be gone and Fenris envies the ease with which he can calm himself down through his chants. His faith gives him a support that Fenris wishes to have himself.

"I am grateful, yes. Before I met her and her friends, I didn't know such closeness was possible." For a moment, the dying eyes of the Fog Warriors appear before him, guilt stabbing his chest. The Fog Warriors were the first group he had ever seen to live and work together without a master. They had taken him among them, trusted him and he just had not known that he could have deferred the order from his master. He could have defied him, he could have fought back but he didn't. Their cries still wake him sometimes. 

He chases the bad memories away, locks them up with all his other secrets. "But I'm not just staying because of gratefulness. I felt betrayed at first that she hid her mage abilities from me but — she is still Hawke. I still trust her."

_Even though she pushes you away now?_

Sebastian looks at him, a deep furrow between his brows. "You trust her, even though she was not entirely honest with you?"

"I understand why she did it."

"What if it is just love making you blind?"

Love. He can't help it, his thoughts tumble into the memories of her touch, her smile, her kiss and his chest wants to burst. His hammering heart makes him gasp and Sebastian looks at him. He shakes his head to dispel his worry. "Love is doing many things to me but it's not blinding me."

"So you do love her." 

What a question. So hard and so easy to answer.

"I do. As much as I'm capable." He has no reference. But if the vortex of pain, pleasure and longing in his chest is an indication of love, then yes, he loves her. It may be a curse or a blessing, he doesn't know that yet.

A noise somewhere behind them makes them both take notice of the increasing darkness. Sebastian rises and ties his pack around his waist again. Fenris gives him a nod and turns back the path he had just come from. Sebastian follows him without another word until they reach the glow of the fire.

Sebastian hesitates on the edge of the bright circle, watching Hawke. She is ripping off pieces of slightly burned meat with her teeth from a rabbit's leg. She looks up and sees Sebastian. They watch each other, Hawke never stops chewing. The situation that makes Hawke give up on a meal has not been invented yet.

Sebastian moves forward at last, walking around the fire to her. He stands for a moment, his hand caressing his bow. "I realize that my reaction was quite harsh," he says. "I may need some time to..."

"Of course," Hawke says and Fenris perks up at the tone in her voice. It's clear that she doesn't want any further conversation about her being a mage but there is something else too. She sounds tired, defeated and drained. In all the time that he has known her, she always had been optimistic, has never given up hope. 

Now that bright light has left her. 

~***~

Merrill's clan gives them the usual frosty welcome. The guards grumble about shemlens trampling over herbs and flowers and have some choice remarks for Sebastian but a look from Merrill quiets them. 

The Keeper asks Serlia her name and a few questions about her magic and soon they have to bid the girl farewell. A small group of children has gathered around Serlia, Fenris recognizes some of them as refugees from Kirkwall. They recognize him of course and he can hear them whisper about _Falon Hara_. He is relieved when Hawke makes them leave the dalish camp quickly after a short goodbye to Serlia.

They move back towards Kirkwall right away, not meeting many other travellers or enemies. They go at a brisk pace, taking the fastest route. Hawke hardly says a word. Sebastian is equally quiet and even Merrill has stopped her constant chatter after not getting any reaction from the rest of the group.

Fenris keeps watching Hawke from the side, trying to discern the expressions on her face. She hasn't smiled once all morning.

Their quiet trek comes to an end when a scout from the city guard finds them and urges them to follow him at once. The young man leads them to a group of city guards gathered around Aveline.

"Hawke, there you are. I've been looking for you all day, I need your help." Aveline jumps up as soon as Hawke is in sight, sending the other guardsmen around her in a scatter. She waves her hand impatiently at her escorts. "Off you go now, you have a job to do. I want presence, I want the city guard to be visible." The guardsmen and women rush off down the road towards Kirkwall. "Hurry!" Aveline yells after them but it's unnecessary, the guards couldn't run faster if they tried.

Hawke waits for Aveline to fall in step next to her, taking the same path back to Kirkwall just a bit slower. She listens silently to Aveline's telling of the troubles this wretched city has gotten itself into. Fenris watches Hawke's face with concern, her expression doesn't speak of her usual compassion but of annoyance.

"First it was elves that were supposedly kidnapped by the qunari," Aveline says, oblivious to the annoyed frown on Hawke's forehead. "Now the Viscount's son is missing and has last been seen in the company of qunari. My guards tell me that the qunari have fortified the compound and hold active training. The city is going crazy with rumors and gossip and —"

"-- if there ever was a good time to attack the city, it's probably now," Hawke finished Aveline's sentence. She sighs, staring into the distance. "Sometimes I wonder..."

"Wonder what?" Aveline asks sharply.

"Nevermind. I'm just tired." She raises herself up and squares her shoulders as if even taking another step is a battle of epic proportions. "Let's find Seamus, a Viscount worrying about his son is of no use for anyone. I have an idea where he could be."

Fenris wonders if anybody else has noticed her hesitation, the moment where it looked like she wanted to say no and just leave everything to someone else. But there is no one else. No one but Hawke is willing to protect the people of Kirkwall, no one else is willing to put their life on the line for them. If Hawke left, what would happen to the people of Kirkwall? 

_What would happen to me?_

Fenris loses his footing as he startles. He realizes that the voice inside his head is his own, not the sneering voice of the man who used to call him " _my little wolf"_. His feet are frozen to the ground. He feels into himself, for that presence, that leash around his throat but it's gone. 

A hand on his shoulder rips him out of his contemplation. Hawke is looking at him, her tired eyes full of concern. "Fenris?"

"I'm alright, I was just... in thought."

"Don't think too deeply, it will only make you sad." She gives him a tired smile and hurries back to the front.

He wants to go after her and ask her what she meant by that but they have arrived at the coastal qunari camp, where they had found Seamus before. Hawke goes up to the camp leader and inquires about the Viscount's son.

"He is of the qun now." The giant qunari is half painted in fresh red paint. The other side looks faded.

"I know that," Hawke says, "I would like to speak to him."

"He has left. A note from his father was delivered here."

"By who?" 

"Humans." He gestures to a younger qunari to continue painting his markings.

Hawke clenches her fists and keeps her voice calm. "Did they say anything about who they were and where Seamus was supposed to go?"

"The Chantry." With that the qunari turns away, obviously done with the conversation.

Hawke turns back to them and shakes her head. "This isn't good."

"Why would the chantry send a note when the Viscount has already set the guard and you on finding him?" Aveline says.

"Exactly. We have to hurry."

They go even faster now, almost running towards the city gates. Merrill puts in a sprint to catch up with Hawke. "Why would the Chantry go after Seamus? Why do they care?"

Hawke's face looks grim. "You remember Sister Petrice? She already tried once to blame the qunari for a crime they didn't commit, just to cause an uproar in the city. She could kill Seamus to blame it on the qunari. I don't know if it is her but Andraste's ass be damned it sure smells like her."

Merrill's eyes go wide. "But what would she gain from that?"

"She may work for her own gain or for Meredith Stannard's. Either way, this is about gaining power for the chantry. Knight-Commander Meredith thinks the city is hers to rule and she does everything to undermine the power of the Viscount. She wants to rule Kirkwall under Templar law." She throws a look over to Sebastian. "And nobody is doing anything against her."

Sebastian looks up. "Mother Elthinia won't let it come to that."

"Are you sure?" Hawke snarls, "because so far she hasn't done anything. Not even against Petrice."

Merrill looks to her feet, stepping lightly over the rubble on the road. "The Viscount, he loves his son very much, doesn't he?"

"Yes, he does," Hawke says with a soft voice. "Losing his son would break him I'm afraid."

They walk even faster and by the time they reach the gates, they are running. As soon as the guards see them, two city guards come running towards them. 

"Guard-Captain, the Viscount's son, he's dead," one of the guards yells as soon as he's close enough.

Aveline gasps. "We're too late."

"So it begins," Hawke says quietly. 

Her shoulders slump forward and she leans heavily on her sword. Fenris has never seen such hopelessness in her face and it scares him to the bone. He can't remember when the last time was that he felt fear like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gloom and broodiness all around, I'm sorry. It seems the story doesn't want to get happy yet. But it will get better, eventually, I mean, as much as it can in the constraints of the general "the world is ending!" story.
> 
> Notes:
> 
> I'm sorry to all Sebastian fans for butchering his character but I find him incredible hard to write. I just don't understand him.
> 
> I added tags that the story is not timeline compliant. I looked up the timeline of DA2 and decided that it was stupid. Timelines can suck it.
> 
> Have a good day everyone and see you next time in the doom and gloom!


	12. Rush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back dear readers! This story is not forgotten, no worries. It was just so depressing that I couldn't write it for some time but now I think I turned it around, despite Fenris' reluctance to do so.

* * *

"Where do we stand now?" Hawke leans against the mantelpiece of her fireplace, looking more tired than ever.

Aveline looks up from the table where she rested her head. "The viscount has locked himself into his basement, the city is falling apart and the Arishok has asked for you specifically to talk about who knows what."

"Aveline, I really appreciate how you don't beat around the bush," Hawke says and sits down opposite of her.

Varric looks up from his notes he's furiously been scribbling. "Are you going to talk to the big horned guy?"

Hawke leans back in the chair. "Hey, he called for me, what more can a girl want?"

Fenris knows that Varric throws him a certain look but he pretends to stir the fire to avoid looking at him.

Since the death of the Viscount's son, there hasn't been a moment of time to gather their thoughts. Hawke had found out about Mother Petrice's plot to pin the death of the Viscount's son on the qunari, and for now she seems to have prevented an attack on the qunari compound and open war in the city, by holding on to the evidence.

But all Fenris can think about is the coldness between them and the way she turns away whenever his eyes meet hers.

Aveline has a deep frown on her forehead and she looks almost as tired as Hawke does. "I can try to talk to the Arishok but he's very particular –"

"Exactly," Hawke interrupts. "He wants to talk to me. If you go to him instead, he'll probably feel insulted. Let's find out what he wants and then we'll go from there."

She pulls the straps on her armor tight again and fixes her sword to her side. Fenris does the same and steps to her side.

"You're coming with us? That's good," Aveline says. "Since you actually speak qunlat."

He nods but he can see a tiny smile on Hawke's lips. She knows that his language proficiency has nothing to do with his insistence of going with her all the time. As difficult as he finds it to put into words why he can never leave her, her smile gives him hope that he will be able to tell her one day.

~***~

The voice of the Arishok thunders over the compound as he yells out his rage. "I am confined here in this wretched city. Filth stole from us. A simple act of greed has bound me! We are all denied Par Vollen until I alone recover what was lost under my command! That is why I do not simply walk from this pustule of a city! Fixing your mess is NOT the demand of the Qun! AND YOU SHOULD ALL BE GRATEFUL!l!"

Some of the guards that accompanied them flinch and take a step back.

Hawke keeps her chin up, not even wincing when the Arishok leaves his seat to come down the stairs to her. He towers over her, yelling how Seamus, the Viscount's son was a of the qun and therefor was killed as one of the Arishok's own men. Fenris tries to put a warning into his look towards Hawke. The Arishok is responsible for every single one of his men and a murder is an insult and an attack against himself.

But Hawke doesn't look at him, she only looks at the Arishok, her face showing no emotions. Aveline also doesn't see the warning he tries to put into his expression and steps forward. 

"That doesn't give you the right to kidnap people from this city to convert to your religion."

The Arishok turns his angry stare on Aveline and she raises her chin up high to face him. "I have never kidnapped anybody from this city. Whoever came to us, did so out of their own free will. They sought the guidance and strength of the qun and the qun takes everyone willing."

"You have taken two elves, they are wanted for murder and you're hiding them," Aveline says.

Hawke throws a sharp look at her, obviously hearing about this part of the story for the first time. 

The Arishok pulls a face that could possibly be called a grin and barks a command to his troops. Two of his Sten nod, duck behind some tarps and return with two elves, who wipe their hands on their pants. 

Aveline takes a step towards them but the Sten close the gap front of her. She huffs out in anger. "I'm Captain of the city guard, I'm taking these two under arrest for suspected murder."

One of the elves points at Aveline, spitting on the ground. "One of your guards forced himself on our sister and we reported it and the city guard did nothing about it."

"That still doesn't give you the right to murder the man," Aveline shouts.

Hawke's eyes are cold as she looks at Aveline. "Is that true?"

"We may have had a report..." Aveline starts but stops when Hawke turns fully to her.

"One of your guards, _your_ guardsmen, raped that girl and you did nothing?" Her anger is like a bitter stench that Fenris can taste in the air. 

"That still doesn't give them the right to take the law in their own..." Aveline says but Hawke doesn't let her finish.

"When the law fails its people, what else can they do?" 

Aveline swallows hard but doesn't answer. Hawke looks at her, furious and disappointed. She will not let this rest for sure but right now the Arishok is a more urgent problem and she turns back to him, releasing Aveline from her angry gaze. Aveline visibly relaxes. Fenris has never been afraid of Marian but he sees now why some people are.

The Arishok sits back on his chair and studies the human woman in front of him.

"You are one of the few who are worthy in this city," he says, his voice calm. "You are Basalit-an. I have seen you trying to help this city but you should know by now that it is doomed."

Hawke shrugs. "Maybe it's time for you to leave anyway?"

The Arishok jumps up and his voice is loud enough for the whole city to hear. "The book! Without the book, we cannot leave."

"The book is long gone from this city." Hawke's voice is hard and her stare never falters.

"No it's not." The Arishok falls back into his chair. "The pirate has it and we know she's in the city." 

"Isabela has left a long time ago.".

"Liar!" the Arishok yells. "We know she has returned, we know she has the book and we will lay siege to this city if it isn't returned to us."

Hawke stares at him in disbelieve but she keeps quiet.

"Leave!" the Arishok orders. "I've had enough. Next time I see a human baas in here, they will die."

As one, all qunari in the compound turn to them, weapons drawn. Arrows fly, hitting the guardsmen and narrowly missing Hawke. Fenris pulls at Hawke's arm to get her attention. She seems to be in shock, she doesn't say a word, doesn't even look up when Aveline and him drag her out of the compound. The gate closes behind them but the qunari keep their weapons drawn and the sound of many men getting ready for a war drives them forward.

Fenris grabs Hawke's arm to make her look at him. It takes her a moment to register him and when she does, she tries to smile until reality catches up with her and all happiness leaves her face.

Her voice is quiet and tired when she says, "Let's hurry. Warn the people. The qunari will attack soon." 

Aveline exchanges a look with Fenris. Worry is edged deeply into her face.

"May I have a word, Fenris?" She looks over to a market stall, where a dwarf is packing up his wares quickly. Hawke has run over to another stall and purchases a few potions.

Fenris follows Aveline as she tells the people to pack up and run. "What is it?"

"You have to talk to her." Aveline looks over his shoulder to Hawke. "She doesn't care about her own well being anymore, she has lost all hope."

Fenris stares at her. "How could I aid her?"

"Come on Fenris, even with my limited romantic abilities I can see what she feels for you and you can't tell me that you don't feel anything for her."

He turns to look at her and that familiar pain in his chest is back that always comes when he sees her. It is even worse now because he can see how a deep sadness has taken a hold of her, utterly and draining.

He turns back to Aveline. "I don't know if I can provide the encouragement the she needs. I don't know if I'm ready --"

"I'm sorry Fenris," Aveline interrupts. "I don't want to pressure you but I feel like we're losing her. She hasn't even been this bad when you... when you left."

Fenris cringes when he thinks back to what he had done to her with his disappearance. "I will do what I can," he says and dips his head towards Aveline.

Hawke is still speaking to dwarven merchant. Hawke hands him a few coins, judging by the merchant's reaction way more than would have been necessary. He smiles at Hawke and searches in a box for a few metallic objects, wrapped in a piece of cloth. He hands the package to her and hurries to close up his stall.

Hawke turns to Fenris, unwrapping the package in her hand. It's two shoulder guards, glimmering like silver with engraved intricate elvish patterns. She caresses them with a thump, following the swirling lines. "Here," she says, a tiny smile playing on her lips, and hands him the shoulder guards, "I think they'll fit you best."

Fenris stares at the beautiful things in his hands. "Hawke, you don't have to give me presents."

"I know, but I want to."

He looks up to her, whatever he wanted to say to her is gone from his mind. "I..."

"Yes?"

"I don't need presents to convince me to follow you," he barks. He regrets his outburst instantly when he sees the smile fall from her face.

"I'm not trying to bribe you," she says and turns away.

He grabs her arm. "I'm sorry, Hawke, that's not what I meant."

She stops and looks down. "We do that a lot, don't we? Say things we regret and trying to take them back." She looks him in the eyes. "Maybe it's because there's so much we should say instead but don't dare to?"

Fenris can't breathe. This is what Hawke does, she puts her finger into a wound and doesn't fear the consequences.

"You don't have to say anything," she murmurs.

"I wish I could be what you need," he says, his voice leaving him halfway.

She looks at him and he sees tears in her eyes. "I wish I knew what you need. I wish I could...," she stops and turns away from him.

She walks fast, runs. Aveline hurries after her, Fenris follows the women in a short distance. His body moves on memory alone. He stares at the red band, tied around his wrist. Hope is dancing in his heart, silly and evil. He still isn't sure if whatever is happening between them is a blessing or a curse.

They hear yelling and screams from Hightown and Hawke's steps become more purposeful. It's not quite a major attack yet but qunari patrols are obviously attacking the guard and templars, and bandits are taking the opportunity to loot in the chaos. Aveline finds a group of guards and leads them to hunt after a large group bandits. A short nod passes between Hawke and Aveline before she disappears behind a building. 

Hawke frowns, but concentrates on the next troop of qunari stalking towards them.

A fireball takes out three qunari and Fenris turns around to spot their helper. He sees Varric and Anders running towards them. Varric stops next to him and nods as he aims and shoots the last bandit that had been forgotten by his friends.

Fenris lowers his sword but keeps it in his hand, ready for the next fight that will surely come for them. "How did you find us?"

Varric grins. "Would it be too cliche to say we just followed the noise?" 

Fenris has to smile but when he sees Hawke pulling Anders into a hug, anger wells up in him, making him grip his sword tighter.

"Easy, Broody. No need for jealousy," Varric mumbles.

"I'm not jealous."

"Of course not." Varric shakes his head. "But let me just say that Hawke doesn't have many shoulders to cry on and I'm not saying whose fault that is but maybe you should grant her that little repose."

"I..." He doesn't know what to say and a troop of qunari rescues him from answering. They attack with the quiet determination of those who believe in their purpose. One could almost envy them for it. 

Battle mode brings him forward, his movements quick, his arms swinging wide and the impact of his sword singing through him. He looks for Hawke, looks for her as his grounding in the chaos of the battle. Two qunari attack her and her sword swings as wide as his and hits her attackers with just as much force. He smiles at the familiarity, and he's too distracted to realize that two other qunari have come to attack him and they have backed him in a corner where he can't swing wide. 

He raises his arms high to hit but it leaves him vulnerable and only a desperate jump up some stairs saves him from getting crushed by a qunari battle hammer. His attackers come after him, crowding him and he activates his brands despite the pain it's causing him to phase through the chest of the closest one and rips out his heart. He falls as his companion stares at him until the life leaves his eyes and he falls on top of his friend, felled by a thick arrow. 

Hawke comes to him, her sword drawn high over her shoulder, determination on her face. She came to help him and seems just as surprised as him how the second qunari died. 

"That's not one of Varric's or Sebastian's arrows," she says. The arrow is much longer and looks more heavy than any they have seen before. She scans the area around them and her eyes widen when a group of armed warriors step out of the alley, wearing the Warden crest on their chest pieces. She steps towards them but stops, frozen, staring with her mouth open when one of the wardens takes off his helmet and comes closer to her.

"Marian? Marian is that you?"

Hawke makes a strange sound in her throat. She stretches out her hand as if she thinks the person in front of her is just an illusion. "Carver?"

The Warden takes her hand in his. "Yes, it's me."

"Andraste's grace, Carver, it's really you!" Marian cries out with a choked breath and pulls him into a hug. Their armor clangs and scratches as they hold on to each other as if the other is about to disappear. "We thought you were dead," she whispers, staring at him in disbelieve.

"You were not far off," the Warden says. He looks a bit younger than Marian, or maybe she looks just more tired than him, but the family likeness between them is obvious. "When I found the Wardens in Lothering, they were overrun by Darkspawn, all we could do was holding them off to give the people time to escape. But — " he hesitates and takes a small step back, stepping out of the embrace. "But you have to be a Warden to be strong enough to fight Darkspawn."

"They conscripted you," Hawke says, a statement more than a question.

"Taint and all."

An older Warden steps up to them. "We have to go, Carver."

Hawke turns to him. "But we need help, the city is falling apart."

"This is not Warden business."

Anger flashes up in Hawke's eyes. "No, this is people business, people that need protection." It looks like she's almost willing to attack the Warden Commander and wouldn't that be just the perfect trouble to add to this day.

Carver turns to the man, lowering his voice respectfully. "Couldn't we at least help holding back the qunari?"

"You know we have more urgent matter." The Warden Commander turns and marches away. The other three wardens fall into step behind him. Carver is visibly torn but eventually sighs and takes Hawke's hand in his.

"I have to go, tell Mom and Bethy that I'm doing good."

"But — " Hawke starts but then she swallows whatever she wanted to say and nods. Fenris knows what she isn't saying. What good would it do him to tell him that his mother is dead and his sister locked up in the Circle?

She ruffles his hair and by his reaction it seems to be something like an old memory between them. "Be careful, Carver," she says.

"You too." Carver turns and hurries after the wardens. They wait for him at the end of the road and start marching again as soon as he's close enough to fall into step with them. He puts his helmet back on and raises his arm once more before he disappears with them in the fog rising from the docks.

Hawke is standing where he left her, staring at the spot where the wardens have disappeared, her sword on the ground where it fell from her hand. Fenris picks it up and hands it to her. 

"Your brother is a Warden now," he says to wake her from her trance.

"I thought he was dead," Hawke says so quietly that he almost can't hear her. "I thought he died at the Warden's tower, I thought it was my fault. Mother always said that it was my fault, that I send my little brother to his death."

"But you didn't."

"I still should have gone, I'm the oldest." She looks up to him with a failed smirk. "Maybe I'd be a Warden today."

Fenris knows what guilt is. He sees them in his mind, warriors he has killed in the fog, people that had helped him and he killed them regardless. "You can't change the past," he says and maybe he is trying to convince himself just as much as he tries to convince her.

The way she looks at him hurts him like a knife to his heart. Before he can think, he steps closer, puts his hand on her shoulder and pulls her closer until her cheek rests against his. A long breath leaves her and then her shoulders shake with a quiet sob and he feels tears run down their cheeks. It's over in a moment but he keeps holding her, feeling her warmth against his face, waiting for her to shake him off. But she stays, her breath evening out.

It feels like hours pass but it's only a few moments. Varric gives quiet cough to bring them back to reality. 

"Where do we go next?" Varric asks, decidedly not looking their way.

Hawke sighs and releases Fenris with soft touch to his cheek. "With the Viscount hiding somewhere, who holds the power over Kirkwall now?" she asks, still looking at Fenris but addressing Varric.

"Officially? Probably the Chantry," Varric huffs. "But I'd bet all the winnings of our nights of Wicked Grace that Knight-Commander Meredith is the one making a grab for it."

"Her having even more power? Sounds like a bad, bad idea. What's the alternative?"

Varric starts walking towards Hightown, Hawke falling into step with him and Fenris walking slightly behind her, watching her. It is natural for him to walk behind her like this, trained bodyguard that he is.

Images flood him, his Master's back in front of him, his duty to protect him, performing for him his strength, his abilities. _You have done well today, my little wolf._ How he yearned for his approval, how proud he was when Master smiled at him. Sickness spreads in his stomach as his memory watches him bowing his head, smiling when his Master lets him kill an attacker as his reward.

"Fenris?" Hawke has a hand on his arm and he almost flinches away. "Are you alright?" 

"Yes, sorry." He clears his mind with a deep breath, shoving the unwanted images of his former self away. "Where are we headed now?"

"The Chantry. If we can convince the Grand Cleric Elthina that she needs to intervene, maybe we can keep this under control. We have the note that proves that Petrice is behind this mess, that she got the Viscount's son killed. Elthina has to do something about that. And I'm pretty sure the qunari are going to attack the city soon and if all the Chantry is keeping busy with is the templars, the city will be ripe for a taking."

"Can't say that the Grand Cleric would be my first choice," Varric grunts.

"Mine neither," Hawke says. "But what can we do? Let Meredith get more power and the Templars will stomp over this city like a horde of Darkspawn."

The chantry is quiet as usual. Unnervingly quiet. While the city is trembling in fear, the chantry stands still and peaceful like it can not be touched. Fenris halts at the door, as always the building intimidates him. 

"I will wait here, they don't want me here." He steps to the side of the door, where the light of the candles does not quite reach him. 

"They probably rather have you here than me," Anders says next to him, hiding in the shadow just like him. 

"You're human, mage," Fenris snarls.

"Apostate is the word, or dangerous maleficar, whichever you prefer," Anders says, his cheerful voice betraying the bitterness of his words. 

"You're a Warden, I thought the Chantry can't touch you."

Anders let out a snort. "They aren't supposed to make mages tranquil that have passed their Harrowing either but more tranquil are walking around in the Gallows than ever. In the end, the Chantry holds all the power over mages and I wouldn't count on me being a Warden to protect me."

Fenris has an angry retort on his lips but he swallows it when he thinks of the Tranquil he met at the market. Despite her inability to feel emotions, her words of getting beaten or used in other ways if she didn't sell enough reminded him of the hopeless acceptance of slaves. It is wrong to do that to anyone, even if they are a mage.

"You know now that Hawke is a mage," Anders says quietly next to him while they both watch Hawke speaking to Petrice and Grand Cleric Elthina. 

"Don't tell me what I should do or not do, mage," Fenris spits out.

"I wasn't, I wanted to ask you what you _intend_ to do now." 

That he cannot answer. It is out of the question that he would ever let the Templars take her but what future do they have? It still disturbs him to know that she is a mage, the things she can do, the danger she poses to everyone who meets her wrath. 

Anders' voice is quiet and for once without malice. "Do you think she is dangerous?"

"Every mage is dangerous, tempted by power and demons." He can't help an angry snarl as he looks at Anders. "You should know best, Abomination."

"Oh, we're back at this again?" Anders rakes through his hair in a gesture of exasperation that he has seen on Hawke as well. Fenris has never felt the need to touch his hair, he never had a right to his own hair. It was a tool: to be displayed, to be grabbed, pulled and held. 

"Listen," Anders's voice pulls him back to the gloomy darkness of the Chantry. "Hawke has always been a dangerous woman, she has fought at your side as a warrior for years, how is this now different? She isn't even using her magic, except for things like saving your life as it happens."

"Don't accuse me of being ungrateful!"

"I'm not accusing you of anything, you're the one with all the accusing of mages being power-hungry monsters," Anders snarls back. "Maybe that's true for Tevinter but not here. Here we're under the control of the Chantry, in fear of being made tranquil and how can you not see that — "

" — that Tranquil are slaves?" Fenris interrupts, partly to quiet Anders down because his passionate speech is drawing the attention of a few sisters on the other side of the giant corridor. "I see that."

Anders falls back to a whisper, "Then how can you still — "

" — please!" Oh, how he swore to never beg a mage again and yet now he does. 

_You will always beg, little wolf._

His brands flare up as he fights to suppress the furious anger directed at Anders, but this mage is not the true target of it. He _knows_ that.

"I'm sorry," Anders says to Fenris' surprise. "I know this can not be easy for you." 

That admission dissolves his anger like ink in a pot of water. "You know?"

"I've lived in the Circle, taught every day how my very existence was a sin, a blight on the Maker's creation. It took me a long time, many years, to unlearn these things." He looks at Fenris and he realizes that what he mistook for pity is actually understanding in those brown eyes. "You have not had many years as a free man, yet."

A free man. 

This isn't the first time that his life has been validated like that, the first time was when Hawke yelled at Danarius' hunters, "Fenris is not a slave!". It had felt like the sun was turning to him and shined only for him. If he had not been infatuated with Hawke at that point already, he would have been then. 

He wants to thank Anders for calling him a free man but the conversation at the other end of the corridor has turned to loud yelling by Hawke and Petrice and the infuriating calm voice of Grand Cleric Elthina. He sees Anders gripping his staff tighter and he debates with himself whether he should unsheathe his sword. It feels wrong to pull out a sword in this place of worship, even if he is not sure himself if he believes in the woman whose statue looks down on the commotion around Hawke now. 

Grand Cleric Elthina turns away, even though Hawke is clearly not finished yelling at her. Fenris cannot remember another person who can infuriate Hawke quite like Elthina. 

Hawke isn't the most diplomatic person on a good day, she is kind to a fault, but being subtle and careful are not part of her personality. But maybe that is exactly what this city needs because who else would yell at the Grand Cleric right in the middle of the Chantry under the watchful eyes of Andraste? 

They can hear only parts of her angry speech, something about Petrice's ruse and how there have to be consequences. Elthina's response is quiet, calm and Hawke seems to bristle just from hearing it. Varric stands between them, looking like he wishes to be anywhere else. The Grand Cleric turns and walks up the stairs, oblivious to the daggers that Hawke tries to shoot from her eyes. Just as Anders' hand on his staff relaxes, a door to the side opens and reveals a qunari. He has a bow in his hands, aims, and shoots Petrice in the back. She falls down dead with a thud. 

"We don't forget our own," he says, turns and disappears.

Grand Cleric Elthina doesn't even turn around.

Fenris looks at Anders and finds him looking back with the same shock.

"What just happened?" Anders asks. 

"We have to go, now." Fenris has seen enough of Tevinter politics to know how this could play out. 

Varric and Hawke walk towards them, as fast as they can without actually running. "Let's go, go, go," Hawke mumbles at them through grit teeth. 

They hurry out through the giant doors and don't slow down until they have put a significant distance between them and the chantry. The fighting in the streets seems to have died down but the silence is uneasy, menacing.

"Why are we running?" Anders asks.

"An elf, an apostate, a dwarven merchant and Kirkwall's most annoying noble woman were just involved in the death of a chantry mother," Varric says between huffs as he struggles to keep up. 

"Oh shit." Anders takes a turn and hurries down stairs that will eventually lead to Darktown.

Hawke runs after him. "Where are you going?" 

"My clinic. I have to strengthen the wards and — "

" — I get that you have patients but you can't stay there tonight."

"Hawke! I can't just abandon — "

Hawke grabs his shoulder and stops his run to make him face her. "I'm not asking you to abandon your patients, Maker knows nobody else is helping them, but you can't stay there. The templars will investigate this. I want you to come to the estate through the tunnel as soon as possible. We'll find you a place to sleep."

"You think the Templars won't investigate you?" Fenris asks.

"I think they would rather arrest an apostate and an elf to place the blame on, than me," Hawke says and turns to Fenris. "Which means you can't stay at the mansion either, it may be mine but it's not under my direct control. They could try something."

Fenris can't stop the happy stutter of his heart when he thinks about staying at the estate, so close to Hawke. "Of course," he says, glad that he could keep his voice calm and not convey to everyone how much he longs to be in her vicinity. 

Varric clears his throat and slings Bianca back on his back. "Don't mind me, I'll be fine."

Hawke grins at him. "Of course you will, I bet you have half of the Templars in your pocket for one reason or another."

"You wound me!" Varric calls out with mock astonishment. "Also, the Templars would never start trouble at the Hanged Man, where else could they get their cheap beer?" He makes a small bow and wanders off towards the Hanged Man.

Anders runs off too after promising Hawke that he would come to the Amell estate through the tunnels later at night. Fenris is keenly aware that he is now alone with Hawke and he has to stop his feet from twitching in nervousness. 

"Do you need anything from your place before we go to the estate?"

He doesn't have many belongings but it's more than he ever had and they are important to him. "Yes, I would like to get a few things."

They walk over glimmering the cobblestones of Hightown towards the mansion in silence, careful and ready to fight at any moment. It is getting dark and the fog from the docks brings a note of saltiness and the sewer smell of Darktown with it. Fenris desperately searches for something to say, something that will calm his frantic heart. His brands are humming with muted pain but walking close to her seems to calm them.

Anders had explained to him that his brands need to be maintained by magic regularly and that they react to magic. Which explains why Hawke's presence calms him but not why Anders' or Merrill's presence doesn't have the same effect. It's not just magic in general, it's _her_ magic that does this. 

How he wishes he could ask her to feed _her_ magic into his brands.

The mansion is buzzing with activity. New refugees have arrived and a group of older residents is organising something to eat and a place for them to sleep. Fenris and Hawke have to step over people sitting on the stairs, all their belongings bundled in their laps. Little children are either huddled close to their parents, all the horrors of life written into their small faces, others jump up and down those stairs, oblivious to the situation. 

Hawke stops a few times and speaks to people, asking them where they came from, what they saw, telling them that they are safe now. Fenris notices that her Fereldan accent gets thicker the more she speaks to these people. By the time they reach the top of the stairs, she is using expressions that Fenris has never heard before.

"Dog's weather, I know," she says to an old woman who has fabric wrapped around her feet. "It's gonna be fine, ye got a good trail here." She gives the woman's shoulder a squeeze and then follows Fenris into his room. 

"A good trail?" he asks her when the door falls closed behind them. 

Hawke sits down on the bed with a sigh, stretching her long legs out in front of her. "A Fereldan saying. Like when your dog found you a good trail. It means that you're on a good path, that everything will be fine." She sighs, bone-deep and her shoulders fall forward. "Maker, I hope that's true."

Fenris picks up the pillow he bought at the market a few weeks ago. It is the only luxury that doesn't fit into a small satchel he has allowed himself.

Hawke looks over her shoulder when he picks it up. "You bought a pillow?" 

"Yes, I could hardly make it myself." The pillow is filled with feathers, soft and warm. He has never had a pillow like this. 

"You must tell me where you got it," Hawke says. "I should buy some too." 

Fenris turns to her. "You have pillows, have you not?"

"Not soft like that, I don't even know, could be just a pile of horse blankets in there the way it feels. Bodahn got them, I think dwarves don't really do pillows." She picks it up and holds it to her face for a moment. "You never had a pillow before, right? In Tevinter I mean."

"No." He turns and walks into the small bathroom. He picks up his soap, a small jar of powder and a slim brush to put in a satchel. 

"What is that for?" Hawke asks, startling him, as he has not heard her approach. She can be surprisingly quiet sometimes.

"That's for cleaning my teeth."

She looks at the elegant brush like she has never seen anything like it before, which is entirely possible. As he has learned on his way through Ferelden, what is considered basic dental hygiene in Tevinter, is unheard of in this country. It was quite possibly the only thing he missed from Tevinter but he was lucky to find a brush from Orlais at the market and even some cleaning powder.

"I could have given you a fresh cat-bristle root to chew on," Hawke exclaims. 

Fenris shudders. "A kind offer I'm sure but I'd rather prefer this." 

Hawke picks the elegant brush from his fingers and looks at it closer. "So, I guess they don't use cat-bristle in Tevinter?"

"No, and not in Orlais either. And I'm fairly certain also not in Antiva as this cleaning powder is from there."

Hawke opens the tiny jar and looks at the white powder. "I get it, it's only us dog people that don't have brushes and powdered... what is this anyway?"

"Mostly chalk and some ash from white oaks." He stares at her and wonders if he has insulted her. But for once there is no tension between them, no halted looks and biting words.

"Chalk? No wonder your teeth are always so white, I thought it had something to do with the Lyrium." She hands the jar back and looks him in the eyes. "If we get a brush and powder like this from the market, will you show me how to use it?"

He can feel that he blushes. "Of course." 

"I'm supposed to be noble now, maybe it's time to introduce some Orlais inventions. Like fluffy pillows and tiny brushes." She smiles at him and he can't help and smile too. "And then I'll have shiny teeth like you."

"Your teeth are beautiful either way." He turns to her, fixing her in his gaze.

"Oh really? Shiny enough for this Fereldan dog lady?" She grins down to him, so close that he could almost kiss her.

"You are a beautiful woman, Marian," he says quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Now she blushes. But she doesn't turn away. 

The moment holds until a noise from downstairs wakes them from their reverie. 

Hawke rakes through her hair and rushes out of the small bathroom. "We should get going before it's entirely dark."

Fenris' voice doesn't quite want to work. "Yes." He puts his things in the satchel, grabs his small bundle of spare clothes and stuffs the pillow under his arm. Fenris leaves the door open behind him and addresses one of the older elves who is handing out blankets.

"I'd like to offer my room for the new refugees. I won't be needing it in the immediate future."

"Oh, thank you Master Fenris, that is very kind of you." The man almost drops the blankets as he thanks Fenris.

"Just Fenris, please."

"Yes, I'm sorry. When will you be back?"

"I will let you know, I'll see you in reading class."

"Good, yes, thank you Fenris." The elf waves at a group of helpers and by the time Hawke and Fenris have found a way down the stairs, the floor of his room is already covered with mats and blankets and a pregnant woman is lying on his bed. 

A smile plays on Hawke's lips. "So you intend to stay at the estate for a longer time?"

"If you don't mind, yes. I don't see the danger to us subsiding anytime soon and — " he halts and looks at her, "I don't want to leave your side."

She stares at him, her mouth open in a silent 'Oh' and her cheeks turn red. With a smile she turns away and hurries out the door. Fenris follows, a smile on his lips and hope once again dancing in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a good note, right? Everything is going to shit but at least these two are starting to talk with each other again. Soon they might even kiss? Gasp!


	13. Peaks and Valleys

"Maker's fart, no!" Hawke kicks the bedroll for extra emphasis and it takes a tumbling turn towards the stairs. 

"It's no matter," Fenris says, watching the bedroll tip over the edge and bounce down the stairs.

"Yes it does matter. You will not sleep on the floor like a dog while I sleep alone in that ridiculously large bed."

"It's no matter."

"Yes it is!"

Fenris' gaze falls to the floor. "It wouldn't be the first time."

Hawke shakes her head so hard that her short hair flies in her face. "We're not camping at the Sundermount, this isn't the woods or anything like that — "

"That's not what I meant." His voice fails him halfway through the sentence but Hawke understands immediately.

Her voice goes cold and quiet. " _He_ made you sleep on the floor."

Fenris still stares at the floor but he can feel her looking at him. It had been an honor, to sleep in the master's room. No other slave was ever allowed to stay so close to the master.

Bodhan shuffles away, presumably to help Anders settle his patients in the basement and among the constant noise of this house of learning and refuge, they are alone, trapped in their silence. 

Hawke closes the door. She leans against it, her head making a thud as she tips it back. "Please believe me," she says quietly, "I will never make you do anything you don't want. I want to respect your wishes but I also want you to know that nothing will happen when we sleep in that bed."

He looks up now, watching her.

"I won't deny that you're terribly attractive," she says with a smirk, "but just because we happen to lie in a bed together doesn't mean I'll ravish you." She takes a step towards him, her face sincere. "Nothing will happen, ever, that you don't want. I will not touch you, I will not demand anything from you. We've been intimate but you don't owe me anything. You don't owe anybody the use of your body."

Memories build up like a terrible storm, dark clouds threatening to overwhelm him. He fights the images, the voice. _That_ voice, how it used to taunt him, praise him, reward him, punish him. He won't let it consume him, not anymore, not with Hawke being right here with him, watching him with so much care.

For a length of a breath he only sees her eyes and she anchors him. The storm retreats.

"I...," there is too much he wants to say and no words to say it. "I would like the side closer to the window."

Her smile temporarily blinds him.

"Good. I'll get you your own blanket." She rummages through the trunk at the foot of the bed and pulls out a woolen blanket and soft sheet.

"I don't need a blanket for myself," Fenris objects.

"Oh you do, I'm not sharing." Hawke laughs and places his pillow on the bed. She carries the blanket over to the window and shakes it out. The sun has gone down and stars begin to sparkle in the sky. "Do you want to go up on the roof for a bit and watch the stars? I could use something to eat too, we could eat up there."

"That would be enjoyable."

She smiles at him. "How about you ask Bodahn for some bread and things while I see how Anders is doing down in the basement." 

He halts, the smile falling from his face and he can't stop the bite of jealousy. Does she not want him with her? Does she want to be alone with Anders?

Hawke watches him and shakes her head. "You can come with me to the basement of course but I don't want to hear any nettling between you two. No 'evil mages', 'demons', abominations!' today. I'm too tired for you two hating each other." 

For a moment she looks older than her real age, her face grey from exhaustion. He is aware that she is not only talking about him and Anders.

"I do not hate the mage," he says.

"And yet you still call him _mage_ with all the contempt you can put into that word." Her shoulders sag as she turns to the door and opens it. "I'm just... I'll be right back."

She leaves, her steps heavy on the stairs. By the time Fenris has found the strength to go after her, she is nowhere to be seen. He searches for her in the hall, the kitchen and finally turns to the basement. A medicinal stench hits his nose as he walks down the stairs and from one room he sees blue light emanate. 

He follows the light and steps into the room that used to be a wine cellar from the looks of it. Empty shelves line the walls and a few shelves in the middle still hold a few dark and dusty bottles. Some shelves have been tipped over and made into simple cots with planks of wood and strawmats. A glimmering blue barrier encapsulates them and the people lying on it, it is the source of of the biting smell of herbs he smelled on the stairs. 

He looks around, there is another barrier like this stretched over a table with a patient and Anders leaning over them. His hands are glowing golden, almost but not quite like Hawke's had when she extracted the poison from his blood. Anders is moving his hand slowly over a wound in the patient's abdomen, while his other hand is working in the wound. Fenris has seen injuries like this before, an open gash, probably from a kick with an armored boot. He realizes that this is a child, and if weren't for Anders, it would die of bloodloss or infection. He has seen that happen before.

Anders works quietly, methodically. Sweat pearls on his forehead. The glow on his hand dims and he groans as he seems to concentrate harder to make it stronger again. He sways a bit and the woman cooling the child's head with a wet cloth looks like she's getting ready to catch Anders if he were to fall.

Fenris steps closer. It's an elven child on the table, lying still like a corpse, its frail body discolored from wounds, fresh and old. He has seen elves looking like this in Tevinter, slaves, beaten and abused regularly. He had been one of the lucky ones, never beaten to not damage his appearance. If his master thought he had to be punished by lashes, another slave was used as a stand in. Sometimes he even had to administer the whippings himself. But his punishment usually was of a different kind, not always physically. 

_You will beg me, my little wolf. You always beg._

Fenris' brands light up in shock from hearing that voice in his head again. He shudders, pressing against the cry of anguish that wants to rise in his throat.

Anders' head whips around, staring at Fenris with wild eyes. The blue light of Justice shines in his eyes for a moment and when it disappears, Anders stumbles, crumbling like a puppet cut from its strings. Fenris catches him before he crashes onto the earthen floor.

"Anders!" the woman with the wet cloth cries out. "You need to rest."

"I can't," Anders croaks, "she'll die if I stop now. I just need another lyrium potion."

"They're all gone." 

Anders looks around, confused, as if he just now registers that he isn't in his clinic anymore. He realises that Fenris still holds him up and scrambles to get up and leans back over the table. The golden glow appears around his hand again but it is weak. "Maybe Hawke has a lyrium potion, I need to... I can't stop now... I'm not done yet."

Fenris steps to his side and removes the gauntlet from his arm. "Use my brands."

"What? No." Anders stares at him with horror.

"You need lyrium to help this girl? My brands are lyrium, an endless reserve." He shoves his arm towards Anders. "Use it."

Anders hesitates for a moment and then places his hand on Fenris' arm, splaying his fingers over the lines of lyrium. Fenris braces himself for the pull, but he is unprepared for Anders' hunger.

It hurts. It hurts even more than when Danarius did it. Anders has run himself so dry that he draws on Fenris with a terrifying force. He clenches his teeth to stop himself from crying out as he feels like his insides are getting torn out. As sudden as he started, Anders stops, dropping his hand from Fenris' arm. 

"I'm sorry, Andraste's grace, I'm so sorry, I didn't know it would hurt. "

"A cruel trick indeed," Fenris says, wheezing as he tries to find his strength again. "Now help the girl so that this wasn't pointless at least."

Anders turns back to the girl, his hand aglow in golden light and he keeps on working. Fenris takes a few steps back, searching for something to lean on until he feels a hand at his back. Without looking, he knows that it's Hawke, her presence soothing his pain like a balm. 

"You let him draw from you?" she asks, putting an arm around his waist to hold him up.

"He needed Lyrium. The girl needs his help." He doesn't know why her question makes him angry. "I am not heartless."

"I know you're not," she says simply.

She's so close, so warm and calming and he doesn't understand what keeps holding him back, what it is that makes him step out of her hold. 

"Are you well?" she asks, her hands hanging at her sides. 

"I'll be fine." He turns to get away but he catches a glimpse of her eyes before she can hide them behind the short strands of her hair. They are red rimmed, her lashes wet. She has been crying. 

He has made her cry. Somewhere she has been hiding from him, crying. His hand rises up to her face but she turns away, hiding from him again. She speaks to Anders, asking im something but he can't hear it over the roar of guilt that is clouding his mind. He has made her cry.

"Are you coming, Fenris?"

He wakes from his shock, realising that the elf-girl has been transferred to a bed, her skin starting to look more rosy already. A woman is taking care of her soiled clothes and another seems to be checking the other patients. Anders is washing his hands in a basin and Hawke stands at the door, waiting.

"We should all eat something and enjoy the clear night sky," Hawke says. "This may be the last peaceful night we get."

Fenris wills his feet to move and walks past Hawke into the hallway. "I'll get the food from the kitchen," he mumbles and hurries up the stairs. He hears Anders argue with Hawke how he really doesn't have time to sit on the roof but Fenris knows that it's no use. A smile plays on his lips when he imagines Hawke's determined frown and her eloquent speech that will convince Anders of the absolute necessity of his attendance on the roof. The mage will accompany them, of that he has no doubt.

The mage. _All the contempt you can put in that word._

That's why she cried. 

He keeps walking, one step after another, trying to run away from the drowning guilt. Somehow a basket with food lands in his hands and he carries it with him until he finds himself up on the roof. The air is colder here and it clears the fog in his brain. 

Hawke, his Hawke, the one he claims and has no claim over. She is a mage and he still doesn't want to acknowledge that. But how can they ever bridge that gap between them?

He sits down and stares into the clear sky. The air smells cold, quite different than it smelled in Tevinter. He doesn't feel the time pass as he lets his memories flow free for once. The abuse by mages, of him and others. The blood of slaves, carelessly spilled on the floor for power. And since he left Tevinter, he has seen many mages give in to demons, turning into giant monsters. Mages are always greedy for power, easily tempted by demons.

But at the same time he has seen Hawke, a mage, open her house for refugees, and protecting them. And even Anders, the most dangerous and annoying mage he has ever met, is working himself to exhaustion to help the poorest of Kirkwall, the people and children that the city and the Chantry seem to have forgotten.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Footsteps on the ladder pull him out of his thoughts and he watches as Anders' head appears, followed closely by Hawke. Anders looks even more pale than usual in the dim moonlight and he sits down on a crate with a weary sigh. 

Hawke lights a lantern and looks through the basket with food. "Have you eaten something?" she asks and it takes Fenris a moment to realize that she's talking to him. 

"No, not yet."

"Oh, you shouldn't have waited," Hawke says with a smile. She prepares a piece of bread with cheese and hands it to Anders. "Eat," she orders and looks at him until he lifts the bread to his mouth and takes a bite. She cuts another slice of bread and puts cheese on it and holds it out to Fenris. 

They eat in silence, watching the city. The occasional screams travel up to them and the smell of fires burning but that's not unusual for Kirkwall. Whatever the qunari are planning, they have not started yet. 

Anders is on his way to inhale his third bread when Hawke looks at him critically. 

"What's wrong with your shoulder?"

"Nothing, just caught a little hit from a qunari back in the alley."

"But that was hours ago! Why haven't you healed it yet?"

Anders swallows the last bit of his bread and takes a generous sip from the bottle with watered wine. "There's nothing much to heal, it's just a bit sore. I needed all my strength for the others."

"Let me see," Hawke demands.

Anders gives her a lopsided grin. "No offence, but before I let you heal me..."

"Shut up," Hawke snaps at him but she's grinning. "I have salves and stuff, let me just see it."

Anders sighs, probably knowing that he will never win this argument and shrugs out of his coat and pulls the linen shirt, that might have been white at some point in its life, over his head.

Fenris has to fight not to gasp. Anders has spoken of the beatings and lashings in the Circle but it had always been in such a nonchalant way that he never took it quite seriously. But now he sees his back, the light of the lantern illuminating the scars and cuts. They are old injuries, chronicling years of abuse and he obviously had not been allowed to heal them back then. 

Looking at those statements of abuse makes bile rise in his throat. Anders' back looks like that of an old slave with a cruel master. Fenris puts down his bread, his appetite gone. 

Hawke has climbed down the ladder to get something for the purple bruise on Anders' shoulder. They are alone. Fenris looks unseeing across the city roofs. Anywhere but not at Anders' back. 

"Now you're not even talking to me anymore?" Anders interrupts the long stretch of uncomfortable silence. "Do I not even get a 'mage' with your typical eyeroll?"

Fenris looks back to him. He has covered his back with his coat, probably because of the cold and most of the scars are now hidden. But they're still there and Fenris will not forget them.

"The girl," he asks to fill the silence, "will she be alright?"

"For now, yes. Her injury will heal and a few days of regular meals will do her good. But she'll be back with another injury, beaten for being an elf or fallen ill when another infection eats through Darktown." Anders' voice goes quiet. "And when I never see her again, then she's probably dead. This whole city is like an infection on the world and it kills the people living inside."

"Why do you stay? You've ran before?" It's a genuine question, one he has asked himself for some time.

"Because mages are cowards and run away all the time?" Anders bites back.

"That was not what I meant. I've been wondering why any of us stay here."

"Oh?" Anders looks at him with surprise. "I never thought about that. In the beginning, the only one who seemed to have real ties to this city was Varric. But we all have ties here now. Aveline won't leave the guard, I can't leave the people of Darktown. Even Merrill is teaching kids at the alienage about Dalish customs and works on her artifacts. Hawke has become the protector of so many people here, I don't see her ever leaving the refugees behind."

"What about your fight for the mages?"

"What about it? I'm always working on that, trying to help mages in the Circle, or outside of it. Orsino tells me that I have to be patient, that it's a slow process but it's starting to feel like nothing ever changes."

Fenris has his usual retort on the tip of his tongue of the danger of mages and the need to control them but he can't bring himself to say it. It feels wrong now, hollow. 

"Why are you still here?" Anders asks.

"I... I'm not sure." 

"Are you still waiting for Danarius?" Anders asks quietly.

"Yes, that too but I also... I can't just leave, not again."

They hear Hawke's footsteps on the ladder coming up and with one look between them, they fall silent. Hawke comes up, an earthen pot in her hand.

"Nothing's on fire? Everyone alive? You're slacking guys," she says with a grin. She dips her fingers into the pot and gestures at Anders' shoulder. "This will cool it and calm the pain."

She applies the salve to Anders' shoulder, her hand moving in soft, slow circles. Fenris has to look away. He knows this is just Hawke and how she cares for everyone but seeing her touch Anders like that ignites a yearning in him that he thought forgotten.

He gets up and walks to the ladder. "I'm going to get settled." He doesn't wait for a reaction from Hawke, he almost runs to get to her room and throws the door closed behind him. 

As he goes through his routine of getting ready for bed, he thinks back to the conversation with Anders. If he is honest, the question of why he is staying can be easily answered. He is staying for Hawke. He can't imagine not being at her side one day.

Recently he hasn't even thought about facing Danarius one day. Maybe his old master has forgotten about him by now. 

He slips into a long shirt and lies down on the big bed that is way softer than his own. The pillow is a terrible hard thing though and he throws it off the bed to use his own. He lies rigid like a plank, the blanket drawn over himself and feels utterly out of place. This is Hawke's bed, the woman who haunts all of his thoughts. The woman he wants but can't. The woman, the mage, he loves.

He will never be able to sleep here.

The door opens and Hawke enters, stepping lightly. She bumps against the trunk at the bottom of the bed and he hears her cursing under her breath.

"I'm still awake, Hawke."

"Thank the Maker." She lights up a flame in her hand and transfers it to an oil lamp. The soft light illuminates her face and she looks so beautiful that he has to look away. He closes his eyes and listens to the rustling of her clothes as she undresses and the sound of her washing herself in the bathroom. 

She returns and the bed dips as she sits down on it. He keeps his eyes closed, not daring to look at her.

"Fenris," she says, her voice so very close to him. "Look at me."

He dares to open his eyes. The room is dark but he can see fine with his lyrium enhanced vision. He turns to the side and sees her looking at him. She lies on her side on that terrible pillow and smiles at him. 

"It's all fine, nothing will happen. Relax."

Fenris turns to lie on his side and takes a deep breath. "You make me nervous."

"I'm sorry. But we're just going to sleep, nothing else."

The darkness makes him feel braver. He can see her but her vision is impaired from the dark. "Maybe I find you irresistible?" 

"Maybe I feel the same but we're not ready for that, aren't we?"

"You're right." Fenris can't help but smile. She knows him so well, and she respects his wishes like no one has ever done before. 

"Good night, Fenris."

"Good night, Marian."

She closes his eyes and he keeps watching her. Just when he think she has fallen asleep, she opens her eyes and whispers, "Fenris?"

"Yes?"

"Can I hold your hand?"

He hesitates but then slides his hand under hers, feeling her softly closing it around his. Her touch calms his beating heart and a few moments later, he has fallen into a deep sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're still not quite there, aren't they? They want to but it will take more time. I think Fenris needs that.


	14. Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers, I'm glad you're still around for this story. This chapter has even been beta read by yoursquadisgay from tumblr, thank you for that!  
> Once again, canon is applied as loosely as possible. I know I skipped all the stuff with Orsino and Meredith but it just didn't fit in. But I did watch the video of the Arishok speaking and used his lines. He talks weird.

* * *

A severed head is a gruesome sight. A severed head, bouncing down stairs with eyes bulging out like glass marbles, tossed by the hair like a discarded rag, is even worse.

Hawke's chin is raised in defiance and he doesn't need to see her face to imagine the glare she shoots at the Arishok. Fenris sighs and readies the sword in his hands. It won't be long now.

Not two hours ago, he had woken from Marian's hair tickling his nose. They were not lying close together but his hand had been resting on her hip and his head must have slipped off his pillow. Scooting back up his pillow, he could still smell her hair and looked at his hand on her hip, separated from her skin by the soft, white cover. The early morning light was bright enough to see the curve of her back, her strong shoulders peeking out of the blanket. 

He could not believe that this was real.

As if she sensed him watching, she stirred, turning to him with unfocused eyes. Surprise flitted over her face and then the brightest smile he had ever seen appeared on her lips like the sun rising over the horizon. His heart missed a step.

"You're here," she rasped, voice hoarse from sleeping. 

"Yes."

"I was afraid you'd leave." 

She didn't say _again_ but Fenris heard it anyway.

Soon, much too soon, the sound of fighting on the streets and Varric's boots on the stairs had forced them out of the bed. Varric gave them and Anders a short report of 'everything's fucked' and led them outside. They had to fight their way to the Keep. The qunari were using the layout of the city to their advantage, keeping the town's sections separated. It probably would have taken them hours to get up here from Lowtown. It was quite surprising how Merrill of all people managed to find them.

The Keep is heavily protected and if it weren't for First Enchanter Orsino, they might have not made it inside in one piece. But the mage displays impressive power and fighting abilities. Fenris finds himself to be more impressed than appalled and that is something he'll have to think over once he finds a quiet minute. But for now, there is no time for that.

The viscount's head falls down the last step and comes to a halt in front of Hawke's feet. 

"You are blind. I will make you see," the Arishok yells and looks at Hawke. "But we have guests." He almost grins. "Shanedan, Hawke, I've been expecting you."

"Shouldn't have made it so hard to get here then," Hawke says after a short look towards the viscount's head. "All the chaos and fighting in the city was just to invite me? A card wouldn't do?"

"Don't jest. Maraas toh ebra-shok. You alone are basalit-an." He lets his eyes stray over the other people, who look nervously at the qunari sten around them. "This is what respect looks like, bas."

"Don't flatter yourself, Ari," Hawke says with biting sarcasm, allowing her anger to show for the first time. "You have no right to devastate this city. Kirkwall has let you stay in peace; it was your choice to stay."

"It was not! You know I am denied Par Vollen until the Tome of Koslun is found." 

"Kirkwall didn't steal your precious book. The Viscount didn't steal your book," Hawke rails back. "These people here didn't steal your book." 

"So tell me Hawke, how would you see this conflict resolved without — "

"I don't care! This is not my problem." Hawke draws her sword, sets the tip on the ground and rests her hands on the pommel. "You have started a war, you have attacked the people of this city. You have taken hostages. Your book is not the conflict here."

"It is all of it" The Arishok raises his axe high and his Sten follow his lead. 

The sound of a body dropping to the floor makes them turn around as the Arishok looks past them.

"I believe I have a solution," says a familiar voice from the door. Isabela steps over the body of the felled qunari, a thick book under one arm and drawing her dagger from the qunari's back with her other hand.

Hawke stares at her with her mouth open. "Isabela," she says after a long moment. "You came back."

"This is your damn fault, Hawke," Isabela says. "All this running around with you had a bad influence on me. I was already halfway to Ostwick, but — it's pathetic." She hands the Arishok the book. "You'll find that it's _mostly_ undamaged."

The Arishok cradles the book in his arm like a beloved pet. "The tome of Koslun," he murmurs. A qunari takes the book from him with great reverence. The arishok turns back to Hawke. "The relic is reclaimed. I am now free to return to Par Vollen. With the thief."

"What?" Isabela and Hawke say at the same time. 

Fenris isn't surprised. "You stranded them here for fours years, there has to be a consequence." 

Hawke looks at him with a clear order of shutting up written on her face. She turns back to the Arishok, her hands grabbing the pommel of her sword tighter. 

"She stole the tome of Koslun," the Arishok continues. "She must return with us. The Ben-Hasserat will teach her, she will submit to the qun." 

"Oh no, this is bad," Varric mumbles under his breath.

"You know I can not let that happen," Hawke says, her voice booming even louder than the Arishok. "You have your relic. Now leave. She stays with us."

"Then you leave me no choice! I challenge you, Hawke. You and I will duel to the death and she will be the prize."

"No!" Isabela calls out. "If you're going to duel anyone, duel me."

Merrill lets out a soft "Oh no." But before she can say more, the Arishok dismisses Isabela with a wave of his hand.

"You are not basalit-an. You are unworthy."

"So charming." Hawke picks up her sword and weighs it in her right hand. She walks up the steps until she stands next to the Arishok and looks him in the eyes. "I will accept your challenge for the prize of Kirkwall. You will leave the city, no hostages, no further fighting."

" _If_ you win the challenge." The deep grooves in the Arishok's face pull into a smug grin.

Hawke doesn't smile. "Naturally."

Varric hides his face in his hand. "Andraste's tits, what have you done, Hawke?"

Fenris can't quite believe what he hears. They have fought qunari before and it has never been easy but at least they could combine their abilities and powers. But Hawke on her own? Against the head of the qunari military, victorious in hundreds of fights just to get to his position? Cold dread crawls up Fenris' spine. 

"Meravas!" the Arishok calls out, raising his giant axe high. "So shall it be." He raises his hand and his sten shove the people to the sides to clear the middle of the room. 

Hawke comes back down the stairs where Isabela grabs her arm with a hiss. "You can't be serious. This is my problem, not yours."

"This has never _been_ your problem. This has always been about a silent invasion of Kirkwall." Hawke looks around at the people in the hall. "Is Elthinia here? Meredith Stannard? Or Cullen at least?"

Fenris shakes his head and looks to Varric. The dwarf shakes his head too. "No, most of them are nobles and a few merchants but I have not seen a single templar. No surprise there, they love letting somebody else deal with trouble." 

Fenris steps closer to her, aching to take her in his arms and disappear with her, to avoid this situation all together. "Hawke." He wants to say more, he wants to plead with her to not take up this fight but he knows it's no use. 

"Fenris." 

She knows. He knows that she knows but still, he has to say it. "Please don't."

"I have to."

"Why you?"

"Because nobody else will." 

She sighs, rolling her shoulders and looks at each of her companions. Merrill looks close to tears and Anders doesn't look much better. Isabela looks ready to murder someone.

"No matter what happens," Hawke says, lowering her voice so that only they can hear, "no matter how bad it looks, you will not interfere. And in the end, I have to walk out of here with my head up high and on my own two feet." 

She looks at Fenris and then at Anders. "You have to make sure that it happens that way."

Merrill throws herself at Hawke and hugs her. "Be careful, Hawke."

Hawke hugs her back. "I will, I'll try."

Fenris can't stop himself, he takes her arm, pulling at her gauntlet. "Marian."

She looks at him with sad eyes. "Fenris." 

Everything is in that word, settling around them like coat and he knows that he can't stop her. 

She walks into the middle of the hall, her sword raised across her chest and waits. The Arishok lets out a battle cry and runs towards her, the ground vibrating under his steps. He has an axe and a sword raised high over his shoulders and hammers them down on the place where Hawke stood just a moment ago.

Hawke has jumped to the side, taking her chance at attacking his flank with a powerful swing of her sword but she barely bruises him. He swings his axe towards her and she can just avoid getting cut in half by rolling away and attacking him from behind. But the Arishok is agile for his size and can deflect her hit with his sword. She runs to get some distance between them and turns back to him.

The attacks repeat like that, the Arishok using his size and sheer power against her and Hawke rolling and running and trying to get a hit in whenever possible. But she doesn't always manage to avoid his hits.

Fenris forces himself to keep looking, even though it pains him to see her getting slower as she favors one leg. Blood drips from under her gauntlets and her greaves and leaves a trail of drops on the floor. 

But she keeps moving, avoiding the hammering attacks and hitting back whenever she sees an opening. She is getting tired but her hits are as hard and powerful as ever. 

"She's using her magic for strength," Anders whispers. "It's going to get too obvious if she keeps it up."

Merrill presses her hands to her mouth. "We have to do something," she says, her voice muffled.

"No," Fenris says. "If we interfere, the deal will be void. It has to be her alone who kills him."

He notices with relief that the Arishok is getting slower too, bleeding from a deep cut on his back. But Hawke tires faster and with his lyrium enhanced vision he can see a light blue glow around her wrist where she enhances her strength with her magic. 

"You see it too?" Anders whispers. His knuckles turn white as his hands tighten around his staff. 

"Yes."

"Soon they will all see."

Hawke makes a daring turn, stepping in the Arishok's way to attack his arm as he swings his axe. She hits him on the down slope and they hear bone crack. But his other arm is free to move and with a sickening sound, his sword drives into her lower body and lifts her off the ground.

Merrill screams and Fenris starts to run to her but Anders holds him back. "Wait!"

The Arishok grins triumphant and lifts his arm higher, raising Hawke up like a piece of meat skewered on his sword. But she raises her off-hand, a bright glow illuminating her face contorted in an angry grimace. A gasp rolls through the room as the people realize that she's using magic.

The Arishok's eyes go wide. Hawke pushes her hand forward and ice shards fly from her hand, freezing the Arishok and burying themselves deep in his flesh. She screams, raises her sword and drives it deep into his frozen chest.

With the sound of cracking ice, the Arishok drops to the ground and his sword slips from his shattering hand. Hawke falls to her knees, the qunari sword still buried deep in her body and rips her own sword from the Arishok's chest. She gets up, her hand holding the wound around the sword in her body closed as best as she can and holds the tip of her sword to the Arishok's throat. 

But the qunari is nearly dead and with his last breath he threatens, "One day we will return." His head drops to the side and in the same moment Fenris and Anders are at Hawke's side, holding her up. Anders' hand is glowing softly over her stomach, trying to staunch the bleeding as blood wells through her fingers. 

The qunari leave without another word. Hawke hangs heavy in their arms but they remember their promise and don't carry her. Hawke is walking on her own two feet towards the door when Commander Meredith Stannard runs in with a group of templars. 

Hawke tries to speak but blood drips from her lips and Fenris hurries to speak for her. "Hawke has won the duel, the qunari are leaving."

Meredith looks past them to the dead Arishok, left on the floor in his and Hawke's blood. She nods, looking more annoyed than relieved. "Looks like Kirkwall has a new champion," she calls out towards the people in the room. She takes Hawke's arm and raises it up, ignoring the painful wince she makes. 

The crowd cheers but Fenris frees Hawke's arm from Meredith's grasp and they walk out of the door with Hawke. As soon as the door closes behind them, Hawke drops like a dead weight and Fenris lowers her to the floor.

"Anders!" he pleads.

Anders is already working, his hands glowing in bright and golden light. "Pull out the sword, slowly. I have to close the wound from inside out."

He wants to rip the offending weapon away but he knows that that would kill her. Currently, the sword is preventing her from bleeding out and as he slowly pulls it upwards, Anders frowns in concentration to close the wounds after it. It's maddeningly slow. Fenris wants to scream.

She is white like a sheet, like a corpse. He wishes for a twitch, wince, anything to see that she still lives but there is no movement in her face. 

"Anders," says Merrill behind him, "is she...?"

"She's still alive, just barely," Anders says with clenched teeth.

Finally the sword is out and Fenris throws it to the floor. 

Anders' hands stop glowing and he wipes sweat from his brows. "That is all I can do for now, we have to bring her home and I need potions and bandages."

"I'll carry her," Fenris says. 

Anders nods. "Of course."

Kirkwall is eerily quiet as they make their way back to the Amell estate. A few fires still burn but the fighting has ended. Bodhan opens the door for them, his friendly smile falling from his face when he sees Hawke lifeless in Fenris' arms.

Fenris' arms ache as he carries her upstairs, but he would never let anybody else do this. He lowers her on her bed and sinks to his knees beside her bed.

Merrill and Isabela remove her armor and Varric cuts the fabric around the wound away. Anders returns from the cellar with potions and bandages. Isabela drips potion into Hawke's mouth but she doesn't swallow. 

Anders shakes his head and takes the bottle from her. "Later." The potion has no use if Hawke can't swallow it. Anders lets a few drops of the healing potion fall on the open wounds on her body while his hand still glows. Her skin starts to look a bit more lively and the bleeding has stopped. Anders wraps her in bandages and most of them stay white now.

Fenris strokes over her cheek and rests a finger on her throat feeling for her weak pulse. If he watches closely, he can see her chest move with every short breath she takes but apart from that, she is not moving.

Anders lets his hands drop, the golden glow around his hands dissipating and he drops into a nearby chair. He takes a vial from his belt and downs the potion.

Fenris holds out his hand. "Do you need lyrium? You can draw from me." 

"No, I — "

"Do it!" He wants to do something, anything.

Anders shakes his head. "I've done all I can. Now she needs to rest and heal and then..."

Fenris' hand drops. "Then what?"

Anders lets his head fall back and doesn't look at Fenris. "Then we wait."

"How long?"

"I don't know. She has to wake up on her own. She has to heal and then wake and I don't know how long that will take."

Fenris looks back at Hawke. "She might... she might not wake at all?"

Anders doesn't answer but the painful expression on his face speaks for itself. Merrill begins to sob quietly and Isabela drapes her arm over her shoulder and leads her out of the room. 

Anders gets up and gathers his supplies. He puts a few bottles of blue glowing potions on the bedside table and hands Fenris one with a more greenish color. "It's good that she isn't awake for now, the pain would be too much to bear. I know you'll watch her — " Fenris nods furiously, " — so if she wakes before tomorrow morning, give her some of this. It will numb the pain and help her sleep. Keep the fire going. Let the wounds air. Have someone call me if she wakes."

Anders takes his bag to leave but Fenris grabs his arm. "Isn't there anything else you can do?" He stares up to the mage, already on his knees and he is willing to beg and plead if he has to. "Anything?"

Anders leans down and strokes softly over Hawke's hair and then looks at Fenris. "I love her just as much as you do. Believe me, I'm doing everything I can." His eyes fill with tears. He turns abruptly and leaves. 

Varric gets up from the chair he sits in and pulls it over to Fenris. "Come on, you can at least sit in the chair."

"No, I..."

"You know how much she hates it if you sit on the floor like the dog."

That convinces him. Clever dwarf. He takes the chair and arranges it so that he can sit and rest his hand against her neck. Her pulse is weak but steady.

Varric hands him a blanket. "Stay here. I'll be back later with some food."

"I'm not hungry."

"Sure, Broody, but I'm not going to suffer her wrath if I let you starve yourself here."

Fenris manages a weak smile, glad that Varric is certain that she will wake up, that he at least pretends to believe it. Varris nods and leaves and Fenris is alone with Hawke.

She still looks closer to death than to life. His own heart wants to beat for hers, painful in his chest. 

He could lose her. 

The thought alone makes his chest tighten in pain.. 

He waits and watches her. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never liked how easily Hawke shrugged this fight off in the game. So once again, hammering the canon until it gives. Kirkwall will have to wait for a bit for their champion.  
> What did you think of the chapter? Thanks for reading!


	15. Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, the quiet before the storm, as they say, right?

* * *

He waits.

People enter the room and leave again. He doesn't register who it is. Varric gives him food sometimes. He practices his reading and sleeps a lot, first in the chair and later on the other side of the bed on Anders' insistence. He thinks that Fenris would sense any movement better, lying next to her but he probably just feels sorry for Fenris, trying to sleep curled up in the chair.

The days pass agonizing slow. After six days of constant worry, Hawke teetering on the edge between life and death, Anders finally lets out a soft breath and gives Fenris a careful smile.

"Andraste be thanked, I think she is over the worst now."

"Are you sure," Fenris croaks out, voice rough from disuse.

"Nothing is ever certain in all the ways but I have more hope now. The wounds have healed well, she is swallowing the water and potion I give her, so there is hope that she'll wake up soon."

"How soon?"

"That I can not say." Anders lets the glow from his hands dissipate and pulls the blanket back over Hawke's abdomen. "But I can feel her magic simmering and her eyes move as she dreams. She is probably walking the Fade right now and her own magic heals her. She just needs to wake up soon to eat something."

"Should we rty to wake her or let her sleep?" Varric asks. He has been at Hawke's side almost as much as Fenris. Fenris had not been aware how important she must be to him.

"Sleep is good for her. If she doesn't wake on her own in two days, we'll try to wake her up" Anders puts a new potion on the side table. The bottle glows in soft blue from the lyrium in it. "I'm going back downstairs to the clinic." He turns to Fenris with a thoughtful look. "Do you think I should tell the people outside that she is better? It might give them hope."

"Who?"

"Who do you think brought all these flowers and bread baskets?" Anders gestures around the room. Every table, shelf and a couple of chairs are covered with baskets and vases full of flowers. "If Bodhan and Oriana wouldn't stop them all in the main hall, they would all be in here. As it is, at least twenty people are camping in the hall right now."

"What do they do there?" Fenris wonders.

Varric snickers. "Most of them are praying. It's like a miniature chantry down there." He gets up from his chair and opens the door to a small gap. Indeed, prayer songs to Andraste are drifting up from the hall.

Varric closes the door and faces Anders. "I think you should tell them. The city lies in shambles, people have lost their homes or worse and if the champion getting better gives them some hope, it might be good for morale."

Anders looks at Fenris. "Do you agree?"

Fenris wonders when he has become someone to decide things for Hawke. "Yes, I agree. Maybe they'll get motivated to return to their homes and fix what they can."

"How pragmatic of you," Anders says. "Right, I'll tell them and encourage them to make the city look good for when the champion wakes up."

Anders closes the door behind him and Fenris and Varric are alone again.

"Are you going to stay, when she is back on her feet?" Varric asks.

"Why should I leave?" The question has not even occurred to him.

"Because she is still a mage and will always be a mage and now everyone in this city knows it too. And you hate mages and — you know even if you weren't trying to keep a low profile, being with the most famous apostate of Kirkwall might not be a good idea."

"I don't hate mages."

"You don't hate _this_ mage, yes, but Merrill, Anders, or any of the mages in the Gallows?"

Fenris looks down, searching for help in the pattern of the wooden floor. "I don't... I don't know if I can trust them but I don't hate them."

"Really?" Varric looks at him with genuine surprise. "Now that's an improvement for sure but trust..." He gets up and walks over to the open window. The setting sun casts an orange light on his face and he looks older than ever before. "I may just write about romance but I know a few things and trust — there is no substitute for trust. Not even love." A sad smile plays on his lips. "Especially love. Without trust, love will just be a painful reminder of what could have been."

He looks back over his shoulder and Fenris tries to hold his gaze but he drops his head back down. There is nothing he can say. He doesn't know much about love but he feels in his heart that Varric is right.

"Hawke is my best friend," Varric says. "You're my friend too and I don't want to see either of you getting hurt. But, as they say out in the country, the Druffalo is in your garden now. It's on you to find if you can follow her. Can you love and trust her, the apostate Champion of Kirkwall?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, maybe he knows that Fenris doesn't have one. He picks up his coat from the chair and gives Fenris a nod as he leaves. No dwarf is ever tall, but in this moment, Varric looks even smaller than usual, a weight pressing down on his shoulders.

Fenris closes the window to a small gap and extinguishes the candles on the bedside tables. He quickly finishes his nightly routine in the washroom and takes off his overcoat and leggings and slips under the cover at Hawke's side.

There is enough light coming through the window for him to see her with his lyrium enhanced vision. Like every night, he lies on his side, rests his head on his hand and just watches her. Just as Anders has said, her eyes are moving behind her lids. He wonders what she dreams about, if demons are haunting her or if she sees memories like he does sometimes.

He takes her hand, and he can feel her magic sing in the lyrium under his skin. But that's not all there is, because nothing can explain the flutter in his heart when he holds her hand. He falls back on his pillow and to his own surprise feels a tear run down from his eye.

"No, no!" Hawke screams, ripping Fenris from his sleep. He almost jumps out of bed to get his sword but Hawke has his hand in an iron grip and through the haze of sudden pain he realizes that they're alone in the room. Hawke has awoken with a nightmare.

"Hawke!" he calls to her.

Her head whips around and with unexpected speed she jumps on top of him and her hands close around his throat. Her eyes are wide and black and unseeing and she keeps yelling at him, "You are not him, not him, no, you're not, not him, not him!" Magical ice forms on her hands and around his throat and he cannot breathe, cannot speak. He fights to push her off him and his brands are simmering. He is ready to phase out of her grip if he has to. He pushes at her shoulders, angels his hip to throw her off him but she is tall and unnaturally strong and he panics, he can't breathe, he can't move, he is trapped.

The room lights up as his lyrium brands activate, the familiar heat of it blazing through his skin. Just as he is ready to phase through her hands, the ice evaporates and she rips her hands away from his throat. Her eyes change, the blackness receding and he can tell that she now really sees him for the first time.

"It _is_ you. You are real." She stares at her hands in horror. "I... I didn't mean." She realizes that she is straddling him and scrambles to get off him. But now, the weakness of her malnourished body catches up with her and she collapses, falling face first onto the bed with a violent cough. He untangles himself from her and carefully places his hand on her back between her shoulderblades, applying the lightest pressure. She tenses but then relaxes and stretches out on the bed. Turning her head, she looks at him, her breath still coming in short huffs.

"Andraste's arse, I hate the Fade," she mumbles. Her hand, looking pale and thin when just a minute ago she almost killed him with it, moves towards him. He forces himself not to flinch when she puts her palm on his cheek. "I'm sorry, Fenris. So sorry. I thought I was still trapped in that place."

"What happened in the Fade?"

She lets out a bitter laugh that causes her to cough again. He takes a diluted potion from the nightstand and holds the bottle to her lips for her to drink. After a few gulps, she starts to breathe easier and turns around to lie on her back.

"Demons, so many demons. And they know your weakness. They use it against you." She looks at him with a sad smile. "It was always you, your face, promising me things, trying to convince me to stay in the Fade forever."

"Me?"

She turns and touches his cheek again. "Always you. You looked lovely, you markings were glowing. They never got them quite right though and your voice was always a bit off." She strokes his cheek with her thumb. Tears glitter in her eyes. "I'm so sorry I attacked you. I couldn't... whenever I refused the demon, he ripped you apart from the inside, and for a moment you screamed as you died and it was so real... I just... I don't know how many times I heard you scream, I couldn't take it anymore."

"Was it the whole time like that?"

She keeps stroking over his jaw, down to the lines on his chin. "It wasn't at first. First there was pain, then everything numb and then it was... I don't remember, it was nice. I was floating. But then the demons came. And again, and again they came back. It felt like it went on for years." She looks into his eyes. "How long was I out?"

"I couldn't say, it's been weeks."

"You were here the whole time?"

She looks like herself again, only paler and thinner. He has been watching the color of her eyes, waiting for the terrible blackness to creep back in but her eyes are blue and stay that way. Is this what he will always have to fear with her, suffering from Fade dreams, waking up in that in between stage of dream and consciousness?

"I waited," he says.

"You fretted."

He has to chuckle over how she pronounces that word like she tries a foreign delicacy that doesn't quite taste right. "Fretted?"

"I've told you before not to fret over me just because I get hurt," she says with a warm smile.

He leans over to her and brushes his thumb over a scratch on her cheek. "I'm afraid I cannot abide by your wishes, Marian."

"You fool, you lovely fool." She has turned to the side and has her head propped up on her hand. "I'm glad you're here."

"I couldn't leave you."

She lets her head sink down on her arm, tiredness making her eyes flutter. "I'm sorry I worried you." She glances up to him. "Can I kiss you?"

Fenris almost cries out from the sudden longing constricting his chest. "Yes," he whispers and leans over to her.

Their lips meet, hesitant at first and then with growing hunger and desperation, kissing like they need to feed on each other. They are light and fire and singing lyrium and they kiss to be one whole piece in the fabric of the veil between worlds.

They have to break apart to breathe but her lips linger against his as she asks, "Will you stay here with me?"

He traces her lips with his once more. "Always."


End file.
